


The Virgin and the Ice man

by ColetteLunsford



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Romance, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Jim needs to mind his own business, John is a Saint, Lestrade is Harassed, Moriarty has no life, Mummy Holmes is scary as shit, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is Harassed, Reader-Insert, Sherlock is a Brat, So does Sherlock, crazy old people, fairy tale modern setting, johnlock if you squint, spoons were harmed in the making of this, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetteLunsford/pseuds/ColetteLunsford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, I wanted to have more Mycroft/reader stories for my main man Mycroft.<br/>Warnings:<br/>You are not a genius (in this story, I'd never know you if you are in fact one in real life), an evil genius (*points to previous statement*), super powers, half animal, adopted, half-related, magical, supernatural, princess or political figure of any kind. You are legal, you are in college, and you are in for the ride of your life.<br/>This is a story of a normal (I use this term lightly, we're all mad here) and an abnormal man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visit or it sucks to be the oldest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know for all of Sherlock's complaints concerning Mycroft being a busy body he takes oh so much crap for him.  
> Sherlock if you're reading this: GIVE YOUR BROTHER A DAMN BREAK.  
> And to Mycroft Holmes: Don't change a thing babe, you're doing great!

“Mycroft, I grow tired of the games you and your brother have played throughout the years this ends now.”

 

Within the sunny east wing of Mycroft’s country home sees Mummy is less than pleased even ensconced rich textures and ample assortments of delicacies.

Mummy is ignoring the extensive buffet of her favorites lined up for her pleasure in favor of staring him down from the comforts of the memory foam leather covered loveseat sitting in such a mechanical manner.

 

 _Regrettable_ , Mycroft thought, _I had this especially made by the cook for her. Oh well, let’s see how shall I play this?_

 

Her hair once a luxurious dark brown has transformed into a snow white mountain cascading down her thin shoulder blades no longer full from youth.

 

Her eyes once a darker shade of blue now made light, her complexion even with all its creams and injections is finally starting to show its wear, crow’s feet and wrinkles are dominating

Mummy’s face .

Even dressed in her finest clothes and finery Mummy Holmes was finally showing her age and if her face indicated anything, she could feel it with painful regularity.

 

Which brought it to today’s discussion, one that would occur three times a year on her birthday, Mycroft’s birthday, and Sherlock’s without fail but increased severity with each passing.

 

 _It seemed that hitting seventy had hit a strong nerve this year,_ Mycroft thought as he tried to bribe Mummy with more caviar.

When his mummy’s stare did not falter Mycroft tried to evade the discussion again.

 

Straightening himself out further on the plush leather loveseat Mycroft raises a manicured brow, “Mummy, I haven’t a foggiest to which game you are addressing when it concerns Sherlock and I; we do play so many games over the years.”

 

The lines on Mummy Holmes face become harder as she glares at her oldest, setting down her teacup firmer than usual, “I sent both my sons to the finest schools in the country but I am sure none of the curriculum involved acting like a mule’s posterior to your mother. Had I seen such material I would have had the school burned to the grounds in fear for the future of England.”

 

At this Mycroft slouches slightly before righting himself, “My sincerest apologizes Mummy, I never meant to distress you. But as you can see even now this is proof that your request should be denied at this stage. As a minor government official I have…”

 

“ **Enough.”**

 

She did not shout it but that in itself was enough to stop Mycroft’s colorful and elaborate excuse to why he could not comply with Mummy’s request.

 

“I do not care that you have neither the time or the patience and I am through with asking in a pleasant manner. You _will_ acquiesce.”

 

The winters that were found in that tone were ones that Mycroft himself had yet to mastered, _a change of scenery,_ he decided would play into his favor.

 

Standing from his throne of softness Mycroft stood and offered his hand, “Mummy how about we walk through the gardens; see how the plumeria flowers you planted from your trip to Hawaii are doing? I heard that they have just begun to produce tiny-”

 

“ **No.”**

 

“No?”

 

Mummy stands from her seat and stalks up to her oldest as he reflexively backs down into his seat once more, each step closer Mycroft wills himself not to shrink back farther into the seat’s backing like a child but just barely succeeds.

 

Scaring politicians, ambassadors, the media, minions, employees, goldfish, and other government workers are easy as they tend to be mindless, easy to manipulate, and so painfully obvious to read.

 

People who have encountered Mycroft Holmes in a business setting or any other type will all concede that Mister Holmes is a force to be reckoned with, to be feared and respected.

He’s the type that all other government officials all look under their beds and closet in fear that Mycroft, the Ice Man, will get them.

Many after meeting the man forgo their second term in fear of dealing with Mycroft Homes, to flinch away to a more simpler existance that did not involve a nightmare such as him.

 

What none of these people known that there is a greater force to fear wielding greater power and more icy sting than should be humanly possible; a person that can even bring the ‘Ice Man’ and the ‘high function sociopath’ to their collective knees.

 

That they all should falter as both Mycroft and Sherlock do, if not for actual quaver but for how two ludicrously intelligent men can acquire cowardice at the same face without fail and blood to run cold at a single utterance of disapproval.

 

If the general populace had any capacity to notice this they would tremble just as both Holmes brothers did in the name of their shared fear.

 

That fear is of Mummy Holmes.

 

Lording over Mycroft Mummy Holmes unleashes her fury, “No, by the end of this year you _will_ have at least begun the process of acquiring of what I have asked you. As the _oldest_ you have a duty to this _family_ and to yourself. You and your brother are getting far behind your years and I will not be left for naught  again!”

 

“But Sherlock still can…”

 

“Sherlock can barely remember to feed himself! And we are not discussing your brother we are discussing _you_ , Mycroft! Do **not** attempt to change the subject again or you will sorely regret it.”

 

And like any sane man would Mycroft kept his mouth shut, a trait his brother Sherlock would have been wise to learn in his formative years.

No matter what his baby brother presented as evidence of his mental superiority it was safe to say that when it came to common sense or sanity Mycroft had the lion’s share.

 

Mummy turns and searches the room, resting her sharp gaze on Athena tending some digital paperwork from her blackberry, “At this rate I’ll even settle for you using your handmaiden you’re so fond of.”

 

Looking up from her phone Athena is painted with a brief flicker of unease, even she knows the influence carried by Mummy, but banishes the emotion as she glances to her boss.

At this Mycroft blanches, “Mummy, Athena is already preoccupied, using her would be prudent and unappreciated by all parties involved.”

 

Throwing her hands into the empty air above her Mummy volleyed back, “At this rate it could be anyone on the street! Just do it Mycroft or so help me I’ll do it for you!”

 

And she would, don’t let her age fool you.

Mummy Holmes can and will move mountains to obtain what she desires, that was proven one day during a family outing to the coast of Africa several summers ago before sending Sherlock off to school.

Those people still fear the image of Mummy Holmes to this day.

 

Putting on a mask of indifference and defeat Mycroft looked up to his Mummy, “Fine, I shall begin my search tomorrow. Then I can have a select group picked out and screened, background checks…”

 

The hands that grabbed his tailored suit were not calculated into this situation.

 

Mummy looked possessed, “Hear me Mycroft you are here to **find** not search! If you do not at least have my request here by the end of the year life as you know it will become overwhelming _difficult_ for both you and your brother. I will stop at nothing and I will be monitoring you constantly. Do we have an accord?”

 

It is depressing when Mycroft thinks about it, of course Mummy would know all his methods, after all _she_ taught them to him.

Perhaps it was time to invest in obtaining new methods however now it would seem that Mummy had him checked mated.

 

There was no other way out unless Sherlock decided to take ownership to the Holmes name.

 

And that was as likely as Sherlock miraculously obtaining an extra X chromosome or suddenly decided to marry his flat-mate Dr. Watson and abduct a small person as tribute to their adoration.

Unlikely but so much more favorable than the present proceedings.

 

“Yes, Mummy, we have an accord.”

 

And with that Mummy left as quickly as she appeared at his front door that sunny day leaving chills in her wake.

 

Athena quickly obtained and poured some of Mycroft’s finest Scotch and presented to her boss, “Shall I begin the arrangements Sir?”

 

Taking a long gulp of the alcohol Mycroft stared out into the once serene looking garden, “Yes, I believe that it is time. Send out the hounds.”


	2. The Clinic or it sucks to have a parent in the Medical field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No really, speaking from experience here, it does indeed suck.  
> Know how many would be dates were ruined thanks to this?  
> So _____ are you ready?

Today was the day, there was no way you could put it off any longer, you couldn’t play dead, plead school or run off.

 

Not only would your mother be informed if you had but she would skin you alive _slowly_ and _chaperone_ you to the next appointment like a child.

And god help you if she did, that one time with the flu shot last year was bad enough.

 

This children, is why it sucks to have a mom that’s one of the best nurses, you NEVER have patient to doctor confidentiality.

 

She’ll know and there isn’t a thing you can do about it because you’re on _her_ insurance until you either turn twenty-six or get your own.

 

You have been dreading this day as long as you could remember after the chilling tale your mother taught you when you first contracted the big ‘P.’

This was the end of childhood, the journey to adulthood, fast cars; trash your dolls, start dating, marriage, and babies.

The word loathed by some kids and sought after by others: **Puberty**.                          

 

At the sight of your first pimple and bodily changes you have been regaled with the stories of what can and will become of you, your mind, and body.

 

I will reiterate, having any kind of parent in the medical field sucks because what they see as harmless bodily functions described in graphic detail sounds freaking insane and gross.

 

Even something that’s supposed to be pleasurable like eating ice cream can quickly turn ugly.

Such _terrifying_ and **painful** things that you would think medical science would have overcame such tribulations by now.

 

Walking down the street to the clinic you pulled your favorite jacket tighter around yourself like a makeshift armor because today was the big one.

 

Today you were making a visit to the gynecologist.

 

The mere mention of the name seemed to call forth imaginary thunderbolts in your mind’s eye as you neared the hospital accompanied by stereotypical horror music.

 

However you were able to put the appointment off for many years thanks to one thing that made it unnecessary, a promise to ensure you were healthy and STD free: be a virgin.

If you weren’t sleeping around you definitely couldn’t contract an STD and if you constantly cleaned your clothes, home, food, and surfaces you came in contact with religiously that dwindled your chances by an extra seventy-eight percent.

 

There would be no medical reason whatsoever to get checked until you hit 24, then you’d have to do it regardless.

So throughout your years in high school and college you have kept yourself clean by forsaking things like kissing, dating, and more importantly sex to avoid this moment in your life for as long as you can.

 

It was a hardship that cost you what could have been the loves of your life but you were determined to keep this day from coming cute guys be damned!

 

Opening up the door to the hospital you enter and take the west elevator to the fifth floor.

Standing in the marble looking elevator you looked around at the other passengers, how they turned to you with a barely covered sneer at you and your appearance.

 

If they have a problem against your pink polka dotted t-shirt, demin jeans, trainers, and Loki jacket that was their hang up not yours. At least you were comfy and dressed compared to their overly done ensemble.

 

Not that you’d blame them, based on your clothes and income you shouldn’t be here either since this was one of the most expensive and top rated hospitals in London.

 

The elevators talked, there were custom chairs in the waiting area with their own TVs and music stations provided with complimentary earphones.

Free fountain stations in every corner with complimentary healthy snacks (not really, most of its fad diet crap they try to push), and gorgeous restrooms with everything to automated flushing to heated toilet seats.

 

The machinery and practices were all state of the art to ensure a healthier person than any other clinic in greater London.

Maybe even in all of England.

 

But that’s if you count what’s made available to the public, secret labs and private practices don’t count.

 

You almost had to be very rich, work in the government, or a celebrity to get in here but your mom works here so this is where you, your younger brothers, and father went.

Still there’s no need to sneer, in reality you’re sure that they have far more germs than you based on that rash covering half the man’s face.

 

The music stops playing its catchy tune as the elevator’s voice announces that you have arrived on the fifth floor.

Stepping out you find to your amusement that both the sneering couple need this floor as well as you judge them just as hard as they try (and fail) to look dignified as they head to one of the many smiling cheerful receptionists.

 

Another thing that sucks about having a parent in the medical field, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, knew whose kid you are.

 

Even if they just started working at the hospital last week by now they knew your name, parent, what ‘adorable’ thing you said or did as a child and what music you liked and what actor/actress you fancied.

 

A classic example would be the new young (looked pretty cute too) male receptionist who waved eagerly at you, “___ we’re glad you made it! We had a pool going to see if you would show up at all. But I was rooting for you though!”

 

Now the sneering couple has their turn to gloat again, the assholes.

 

If you could turn into a liquid and squish into the posh carpet beneath you would as the other patients stared at you in curiosity.

_God please let me get through this…_

 

Preparing for the long wait that generally comes with hospitals you walk towards one of the chairs and fish out your cell phone to catch up on some game playing app only to be called on.

Of course this puts the sneering couple from before in outrage because ‘they were booked first!’

 

But this isn’t your concern you merely ignore their cries for justice as you are ushered by the nurse ( Patricia she says as she leads you the room) and tells you to strip down and wear one of the night gowns provided.

 

With the same fanfare as Patricia used when she arrived she left leaving you with one of those god awful hospital dresses in a terrifyingly bright white room.

There’s a lot of weird machinery lining the walls but the most dangerous looking one is the tall thing in the corner with its sharp edges and long protrusion like arm where a needle would sit.

 

God, you hoped that you never got to see that monster in action.

 

If anything it reminded you of those alien encounter stories you watch when you tried to study for exams.

 

Everything was painted in white save for a small picture frame on the desk of an elderly woman with short white hair in a bright yellow sun dress on smiling at the photographer like a loon.

You hurry to get ready, the last thing you want to do is be halfway done when your new doctor comes in.

The rush of chill air that hits you as you disrobe does nothing to quell your nerves.

 

In the last second that takes you to tie the gown with one hand your doctor knocks on the door, “Hello? Are you ready ___?”

 

 _Oh god, I said I wanted a female doctor! Not a man!_ you internally whined, _this was bad enough already without throwing a male into the equation._

 

This little old man looked old enough to be buried already as his skin was littered in wrinkles, his hair become extinct as it withered away into nonexistence, and splotches of moles.

 

The only saving grace is that this man had a kind face of a grandfather and the understanding of a saint as he introduced himself, “ Now I know I’m not you’re first choice ___ but my name is Dr. Collin Malachite and I’m be attending you for your first exam. I due to retire this week but your mother called me to do your first check up as it is.”

 

Dr. Malachite gestured you to sit on the exam table as he picked up the small photo, “You see __ your mother took very good care of my great-grand daughter so I plan to return the favor by doing right by her baby girl. She saved my great grand baby’s life ___; I’m not one to leave a favor hanging. She did her best now I’m going to do the best I can for you. Before I head off to Canada with my wife Millie I’m going to give you the best care money couldn’t buy then you’ll get your female doctor, alright?”

 

That seemed fair but you were still nervous, he was still a man after all.

 

Your face must have shown your distrust because as Dr. Malachite readied his gloves and equipment he causally added, “And don’t worry about your bits dear, Millie is the only woman for me. I’m not into children I’m afraid. And there’s nothing you have down there that I haven’t dealt with before with countless other patients before you.”

 

Bristling slightly at the kid comment you adjust yourself on the table, close your eyes, and wait for the horrors that are to come.

But cracking open an eye sees that Dr. Malachite is waiting there serenely in his big office chair, “Are we finally ready to listen now ___? I need to take measurements, blood pressure, and weight like any other doctor you know. ”

 

Flushing you quickly get off the table and stand at the ready.

 

As Dr. Malachite goes through the routine producers he starts asking the usual questions: are you sexually active, do you smoke, do you do drugs, are you pregnant, your last cycle, what you’re doing in school, and if you have a boyfriend yet.

 

All of which the answers are in the negative sans the cycle and school work.

 

Dr. Malachite seems very surprised by the answers, “Really ___? I would have thought a pretty little thing like you would have at least a gaggle of boys on your arms.”

He continues on like this like an enthusiastic old uncle cheering up his favorite niece with how a nice girl like you should be beating off young men with a baseball bat.

 

The image is funny on its own, “I don’t want boys though Dr. Malachite, and I’d rather have a man.”

 

As he finishes typing in the information gathered he looks to you, “Ah, I see. You don’t want anything to do with bratty little boys but want a smart, mature, established older man correct? Someone that’s not going to play around with your feelings and commit? Have a family and all that jazz? ”

 

Nodding to the statement as a truth you concede, a mature older man is far more desirable than some twenty-something year old ‘ _finding himself’_ using both your heart, body and wallet.

You’ve seen too much of that crap happen on campus leaving many a girl or guy drowning their sorrows on some other friend’s quid and you’d be damned if it ever happened to you.

 

Nope, it would be saner to stick with someone older with less of a wandering eye or undetermined passion as far as you were concerned, you had no time for little boys parading as men.

 

Now Dr. Malachite is waving you onto the table, “But what about love eh? Fancy yourself a romantic or realist?”

 

In truth you tell all your friends and peers that you’re a realist but deep down and in the corners of your crappy apartment you know you’re a romantic at heart.

All those romantic movies, books, apps, websites and fan fictions you download are a testament to that.

 

You want to be _wooed_ and you want to fall into a _passionate_ love with your prince charming. Wishing you had the gall to blame Disney but to be honest you don’t have the heart to do it, not with that stupid ‘ _A dream is a wish your heart makes’_ faintly playing in the back of your mind.

 

Damn you, Disney songs for inspiring hope.

 

But you don’t have to say it as Dr. Malachite confirms what he already knows, he makes a call to a nurse to ‘bring it in’ as you get yourself comfortable on the table feeling more relaxed then when you came in.

 

This was going to be easy!

Dr. Malachite has yet to do anything that actually hurt and as far as you can tell the exam is almost over. He’s done all the usual bits and now you’re just waiting for the final part before you can go home.

 

In fact you feel pretty silly for being so keyed up earlier and make a mental note to thank your mom for getting Dr. Malachite and to thank him for being so kind to such a skittish girl like yourself.

So as the doctor was handed a box wafting off fog you weren’t worried, when the nurse Patricia came in and stayed by your side you were a bit nervous, when Dr. Malachite started to hook the syringe that came from the tiny cold box onto that mechanical monstrously that suddenly whirls to life like a bad horror movie you were starting to panic, and when a prick turned your vision black you could only hope you would survive this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.


	3. The Call or it sucks to have crappy minions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because you're on top of the world and running it doesn't mean your employees are on the same level.  
> You got to make sure you check these things!

Stepping off his private jet’s stairs with Athena in tow Mycroft was swarmed by his employees from the get go.

 

Information concerning up rises, political candidates, and back-handed grabs for power washed over him like a comforting, if not smothering blanket over the weary man.

After spending a little over three months trapped in a political hell with the Chinese and Korea delegates Mycroft was glad to be on British soil as both parties were a day short of becoming a British colony again if he had to deal with them twice more.

 

_I have thirty minutes before meeting with members of Parliament, and then I have twenty before skyping Mr. Natsuki about new trade policies._

 

Between nodding at passing judgment on flying documents into his car a loud grumble premating the backseat that even the driver could hear.

 

 _Perhaps I should take some time to eat on the way there,_ Mycroft mused as the driver started down the expressway.

 

Without a word Athena alerts the staff at Parliament to have a light snack prepared and then silently offers her emergency stash of peanuts.

Mycroft waves absently in her direction, “No thank you my dear, I think I can stand to wait. I have some personal matters to attend to.”

 

These stolen moments in the car to prior engagements where invaluable to his work, aiding him in networking.

How anyone managed to control multiple governments and businesses before technology is beyond Mycroft’s comprehension.

 

After flipping through all his electronic messages Mycroft finds everything flowing perfectly: on schedule, before deadline, completed, approved, and ready for the next installment.

It isn’t until Mycroft starts to wade through his voicemails that the pattern is broken and his blood runs cold as his ears are assaulted by a very agitated Swedish woman on the other end.

 

“I said I WANT TO SPEAK TO **MR. HOLMES!** NOT ONE OF YOU PAPER PUSHERS! What game do you think you’re playing Mr. Holmes? I don’t care how much you paid me to do this; I do not stand for such stupidity! I canceled a photo shoot and took a year off! You make me come all the way to your _gloomy_ country that reeks of smog for your project and what do I get? Nothing! I go to your ‘top-notch’ hospital, spend hours with idiotic hospital staff scurrying around, and they tell me the injections’ already been given! I have been calling your office only getting your _equally_ stupid staff! My time is _valuable_ Mr. Holmes! I cannot spend **months** waiting for you to get back into the country! The deals’ off! You can find another vessel!”

 

Looking at the message’s date Mycroft’s eyes go wide, the original date is three months ago.

The urge to eat is suddenly gone along with his faith in his workers.

 

“Athena cancel my appointment with Parliament, reschedule my Skype with Mr. Natsuki for tomorrow, and reroute to my office _immediately_.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

And if Mycroft’s driver broke any speeding laws on the way towards his office then no one made a mention of it to the Law or its Lawmen.

When Mycroft commands you to jump you do not ask high but aim for the moon and hope that is enough.

 

At the flick of an annoyed well-manicured finger all of Mycroft’s employees are assembled and waiting before the front where a blizzard of epic proportions was about to descend on their poor miserable souls.

 

Any trace of fear and dread was quickly masked by cold fury as Mycroft stalked in front of his minions, sizing them up, judging how much of a task it would be to replace them based on skill set.

It would be a great hardship to find replacements but a massive error such as this would not be allowed in his network.

 

Pulling out his mobile phone Mycroft played the message again on loud speaker for all of his cringing employees, “Would anyone like to inform me how something I flagged _personally_ with a level nine clearance was not notified at the date **which** it was received?”

 

The room itself was bombarded with the sounds of beating hearts sided with the bated breath from the men and women trapped under the Iceman’s gaze but none cracked.

Pacing up and down the line eyeing each and everyone one of them and still nothing.

 

It was a shame really, the whole point of working for Mycroft Holmes was minted on secrecy, erasing trails that may cause problems, and keeping a level head under fire.

_How pedestrian, they really believe that I will not dole out the chopping block if they show solidarity._

 

But Mycroft was done with games.

 

“If I do not get an answer in the next ten seconds then you can expect that your residency, funding, and all other insurances made through my office will be **terminated** presently.”

 

“Sir,” called a voice from down the line gathering many glares in return.

 

 _Ah, there it is, I knew I could count on Smith_ , Mycroft internally grinned.

 

Mr. Smith had just joined the ranks of Mycroft’s elite service granting his sickly parents the care they needed to recover and the financing to send his younger siblings to college. There was no way a man like that was going to forfeit those hard earned rights.

 

“Sir, the call was passed until a later date because we lost the data in the hospital. We had the data secured within the hospital with Dr. Knight to perform the installment but from giving the data and when Dr. Knight was given it the tracking was obscured.”

 

At this point Mycroft is entranced as he stares down Smith with the rest of his peers, “Obscured? How when every camera, traffic and otherwise can be viewed from my network? Nothing is hidden from my eyes!”

If any of his staff were fast to think of Sherlock and his exploits they were sane enough to remain silent.

 

“Well sir, it was for a good thirty-five minutes and that was enough for us to lose sight of who went in the room or near it to take it.”

 

“Impossible.”

 

“Sir it’s true!”

 

“You cannot tell me that out of the trained lot of you that you could not track who took the data, which you could not interrogate and find the thieves who did this!”

 

“Sir we have been trying for months to find the thieves! We knew we screwed up and we’ve been trying to fix it! We’ve cross referenced and sliced open every employee at the hospital! Had them followed and everything! Nothing is there!”

 

The sheer incompetence is enough to make Mycroft crave a long strong stiff drink.

 

“Besides, we’ve checked every nook and cranny of the hospital and we know the data’s not there anymore.”

 

Perhaps he should just find a very large bottle instead.

 

“Mr. Smith I am hereby personally putting you at the head of this acquisition. I want to know where my data went to, who took it, and who’s carrying it. I want answers by in the next two days or heads will roll.”

 

The chorus of ‘yes sir’ made his head pound harder as Mycroft fled into his office where Athena was at the ready with a large glass of his favorite wine.

 

Not even before the glass touches his lips does Mycroft’s office phone ring, the caller ID reading Mummy.

For all the suffering he’s been through today Mycroft lets the machine do its job.

 

“Mycroft, its Mummy. I told you I would be watching you. I’m quite disappointed in you, letting something this important slip past your capable fingers. And before you get start tearing out what’s left of your hair I do not know who took the data either. That was _your_ responsibility. I’ve decided I want this project done before Christmas. You **will** have it done before then. I don’t believe I have to remind you the consequences of failing me do I…?”

 

Forgoing the glass Mycroft grabs the wine bottle and chugs it.


	4. The Plan or it sucks to be smart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, when you see those kid cartoons with the bad parents and you think that's not realistic at all!  
> Then you look back at your life and think oh crap those were my parents!

You are a walking time bomb of emotions when you wake up in your crappy apartment with your mom banging around in your equally crappy kitchen making what smells to be broccoli cheddar soup.

 

Your throat is so dry it feels like someone dumped a bucket of sand down your gullet and your tongue like sandpaper barely able to form out any words or cry you’re that dry.

Attempting to shoot up like a rocket bent on relaying your horror story to the one person that can fix this only to fall back in pain.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

Taking a dive underneath your sheets you accusingly glare at the throbbing area, your groin area is in flamed and so is your temper.

You are hurting in so many ways and places you didn’t even know existed.

 

Well, that’s a lie, you in theory _know_ where those places are; you’re mom’s a nurse she wouldn’t allow _her_ daughter to have a gap like that in her knowledge.

_That asshole!_

 

This time you’re trying to scoot yourself into a sitting position slowly but god does your lower half sting! It was like getting stabbed with knives and having them constantly twirl about in you while on fire.

 

In the end you give up on sitting altogether in favor of lying on your entangled sheets in a pissed of manner silently crying.

 

The feelings only intensified as your mom tailed closely by your cat, Mr. Frodo (doing detail work no doubt in stealing bites of your food) with a small bowl of soup and large glass of water.

As your mom sits beside you on your small bed you immediately try to get across your story only to be shushed and fussed over.

Allowing for the moment of weakness you make gestures to the water if only to wet your tongue long enough to tell her what happened.

 

But as you painfully accepted the cool liquid your mom was the first to cast her judgment, “____ I can’t believe that Dr. Malachite had to _sedate_ you just so he could perform your exam! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? I explained what was going to happen, there weren’t any surprises! You are almost **24 years old** ___ you can’t act like a baby forever, grownups have to do what needs to be done!”

 

Mustering the power to contort your mouth into forming words your protest while keeping an eye out for your soup from thieving furry fingers, “But mom I-”

 

“No butts’ young lady! I had to have some of my coworkers drag you out of that room and bring you here! I don’t know _why_ you insist on been difficult when it comes to check-ups but it needs to end here! Do you realize what a bad example you set for your brothers? They look up to you __! I can’t keep doing this for the rest of your life __, I need to be able to trust that you can and will survive without my intervention.”

 

“Mom, listen there was this machine and-”

 

“___ I don’t want to hear any stories I had enough of them from the doctors you’ve had over the years! Don’t you think about how your behavior reflects on _me_? On my performance? Dr. Malachite did nothing but do your first exam and right on the cusp of his retirement as well! If anything I would demand that you see him personally to apologize if he weren’t in Canada by now.”

 

Trying again you made a vain attempt to let your mother hear your side only to be thwarted again, “I said I don’t want to hear it ___. Now, I’ve called your college and your work to let them know you’ll be out for a few days. I could only get today off so tomorrow you’re on your own. I want you to drink regularly and stick to a liquid diet. You’ll at least do that for me alright?”

 

From then on out the conversation went downhill, nothing you said (in your scratchy voice), did, or drew could convince your mom of your story.

Not when she’s set in her ways.

 

It was like one of those American cartoons that are so popular with featuring kids that had very stupid parents or parents who are never around.

Sad part is this wasn’t a cartoon and you didn’t have an existential parent figure with a lab or mystical powers that was going to make this okay.

 

This was real life and in real life shit happens.

 

From that day forward you looked for signs that would validate your claims to the abuse you faced in the office but none were forth coming until a week later.

That was when the nausea came.

 

It was horrible and spiteful as you emptied what little you had for dinner last night after studying for an exam.

To make matters worse you nearly threw up again later during the exam but were fortunate enough to have a kind professor who not only handed you a trash can before you raced out of the testing room but let you back in to finish as well.

 

You couldn’t keep anything down unless it was fatty, greasy, and sweet which meant you were stuck eating a lot of things you wouldn’t normally eat.

Like pork pies.

How you **hated** those foul concoctions but alas, they were the only thing you could stomach at the moment.

 

Then came the overwhelming need to sleep during the second month closely followed by the urgent need to vomit anything of nutritional value.

You weren’t too worried about that first one since you’re in college; of course you’re tired! You work and go to school while paying rent!

But even after drinking copious amounts of caffeine enriched drinks you found you couldn’t shake it prone to spontaneous naps on whatever flat surface in the most unlikely places.

 

But the last feature got you as you entered the third month after the assault and it was strange to say the least.

Your boobs were getting bigger.

No really, it’s not your mind playing tricks on you or you getting fat they’re really growing.

Being a respectable C cup and quickly graduating into an over achieving D cup is more than alarming.

When you quickly start to go from over-achieving D cup into an freakishly large E you’re freaking out.

 

It sets off alarms.

 

Even now as you’re walking home from your latest class you’re constantly going over the evidence in your mind.

You have a theory but you’re sacred. If it’s true you’re screwed and if you’re not you’re still screwed.

 

It’s a no win scenario.

 

So much so that you’re nearly death to the loud greeting passed your way.

 

“Bambina!”

 

“ **Bambina**!”

 

Forever looking like a deer in the headlights you stop and look around until you sight the car repair shop to your right; from there you can see your next door neighbor Mr. Hercules Papadopoulos waving to you.

 

Now Mr. Papadopoulos is a very kindly old giant who runs the repair shop with his equally tall wife Helena, both are very doting upon your person (the crushing hugs and kisses you were bestowed upon moving in were a large indicator of this), they both are very generous people (they ended paying your rent one month when you were going broke to buy your textbooks), and they are very loud in general.

 

But you don’t mind since Mr. Hercules ( you gave up trying to say their last names without them breaking into peals of laughter) is a very reliable and happy man. He’s always ready to hear your troubles and offer advice, even if its folksy in nature.

 

You even figure that they just might be able to help you.

So you carefully check both ways before crossing the street and visit the shop.

 

Mr. Hercules wipes the sweat from his brow as he greets you warmly, “Ah, there’s my little bambina! Tell me, how are you feeling? Still have that bug bothering you?”

 

His height permeated by his sweat is making it a bit difficult for you to stand near him as well as the stench of oil in the air.

You weakly nod in an effort not to breath in and vomit at the man as some of his workers stop to yell their greetings.

 

Taking in your appearance Hercules appears to be excessing you, “Hm, the stomach still giving you problems? Did you try the honey vinegar recipe we gave you?”

Another thing that Hercules and Helena were famous for, their alliance to vinegar as a cure all food.

They put it in _everything._

Cupcakes, chicken, gyros, and soups!

 

Nodding in an affirmative because you were desperate enough to try it.

But as much as you enjoy Hercules’ company you need to speak with Helena, “Mr. Hercules-”

 

“Bambina, I told you call me Hercules!” he booms doing a ridiculous pose that macho-man might do for a shoot but that was Hercules for you.

 

“Hercules, where is Helena? I need to ask her something”

 

“Looking for my beauty of a wife, eh? She’s in the back office talking to a client. Be sure to knock and send her my love okay Bambina?”

 

“Of course, thank you Hercules.”

 

“Anytime Bambina!” he calls back before disappearing deep into the shop to finish his work.

 

As you make your way to the back office you dodge and step over any car parts around the garage, the smells making you nausea once more.

Forgoing knocking as you rush into the office and grab the trash pail by the door.

 

Helena is thankfully off the phone as you empty what once was a turkey sandwich, “ **Bambina**! Are you okay?”

Helena all but rushes to your side as she holds your hair and uses the other hand to grab a small cup of water from the dispenser beside you.

Her dark curls that echo her husbands’ framing her concerned eyes searching you for answers as you finish dry heaving into the poor wicker basket.

 

When you feel there is nothing left in your stomach you carefully sit up straight as Helena soothing rubs circles on your back, “Bambina what’s wrong with you? You haven’t been feeling very well for a long time since your mama brought you home.”

 

“I-I know…but that’s why I’ve come here. You see I’m scared,” you whine leaning into Helena’s touch.

 

The circle rubbing instantly stops, “Is it one of those _bozos_ from down the street? Because I know Hercules and his workers can take care of it! I _knew_ those boys were up to know were up to no good! I’ll-”

 

“Helena, please listen! You’re the only one I can trust for this.”

 

Helena stops her rant to listen to you (unlike some adults I could name) as she listens to your plea.

You can only hope that this is all in your head as you explain your request to Helena.

 

Because if it’s not…well, you’re in for a new special version of hell on earth.


	5. The Meeting or it sucks to have bad timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or why mirco-managing is KING!  
> Seriously, don't take everything on by yourself when you have capable people to do it for you!

_Sleep_ thought Mycroft Holmes _is for the weak and tendered hearted_.

Rubbing his throbbing head Mycroft Holmes washed, brushed, and dressed for his next appointment.

 

Even in moments of great crisis Mycroft still had a job to preform if he didn’t want England to fall into disrepair.

Taking a caffeine pill Mycroft tiredly gets into the back of the vehicle to Parliament resting his head against the window pane while he waits for the pill to kick in.

Having spent the most of the night in his office Mycroft poured over every inch of footage trying to locate when and where the data was taken and by whom.

 

Needless to say the task had proved fruitless as there was nothing he could gleam from it.

The footage from the hospital was expertly doctored at every angle and everyone’s alibi for that day was air tight.

With the security checks that each employee had to make at each entry point made it effortless to see who was stationed where at any given time.

 

As the car neared the building Mycroft could finally feel the tendrils of the pill making its rounds in his system, _about bloody time too._

He needed whatever he could get to at least to keep appearances in the adversity of stupidity and after viewing what was on today’s agenda it would be vital.

 

It seemed that even members of Parliament could not be trusted with simple matters like corralling unruly political candidates and keeping the political peace. What Mycroft would give for a day with competent government that didn’t need him to constantly hold their incapable hands.

 

But in a perfect world where the government could run itself Mycroft would be out of a job.

_At the very least this meeting should be brief since I wasn’t gone too long from the nation._

 

Four hours of being trapped at an elongated table forced to hear trivial problems.

 

Four hours of listening to the same drivel being spouted from lower life forms was starting to take its toll and the pill was already losing its power.

 

If Sherlock honestly believed that he enjoyed moments like these then he was out of his mind palace.

Times like this were the bane of your existence next to goldfish!

 

His life force slowly draining from his mind and body as the tediousness washed over him.

What Mycroft wouldn’t do for a shot of espresso right now or at least some snacks, when was the last time he ate again?

 

A ping on his cell phone distracts his thoughts momentarily until he reads the header; then it has consumes them.

Standing from the table disrupting the current peon speaking Mycroft nods for Athena to take over as he steps out of the room and into another secure area before making the call in a private room.

 

“What have you found?”

 

“We found out that there were two unaccounted for personnel for one two days after you made the drop. One Dr. Collin Malachite a refuge recused from the Holocaust, PhD in biology, physiology, and 112 medical journals published,” Smith parrots off the report from his end of the line.

 

If his boss could see the harrowed face of the young man, he too would believe he’d suffer the same hell as well.

 

“None of what he did that day was saved to the hospital’s server or data base. It seems like anything he typed into that computer was a red herring to throw us off the scent. Everything he did that day and with whomever must have been a hard copy file that was hand written; fled to Toronto, Canada with his wife Millicent and immediate family after the data was given. Address 1222 John Lemon Street, with immediate family,” there’s a pause a flicks of paper before he continues.

 

“The other was a Miss Patricia Jones medical intern hired on by Dr. Malachite. Foster family, main benefactor is Dr. Malachite. Last check in was after Dr. Malachite was present, last known position was at an airport in Cambridge on a plane to Mexico. From there on we can’t find a trail for her.”

 

Mycroft takes a brief solace in the comforts of a rouge chair in the room, “Then what are you waiting for? Go find Dr. Malachite and find out where he placed the data.”

 

“Sir, it’s not that simple! Finding a fugitive in Mexico is one thing but as for going to Canada we may have a problem…”

 

Mycroft’s patience was not everlasting as he growled for Smith to get on with it; he had no time to dance around the subject for much longer before Parliament would burst through the door like whiny children.

 

“It looks like the Canadian government doesn’t want to expedite the man, especially not a prisoner from World War II. They’re refusing to even let us in their boarders if we so much as try to force him out or threaten his family.”

 

_I knew that blow out with the Canadian prime minister would come back to haunt me._

“Then promise them that we will not forcibly harm, threaten Dr. Malachite or his family for the opportunity to converse with Dr. Malachite in a secure setting! At this rate I don’t care what you give him as long as answers are given!”

 

Mycroft had hardly realized he was shouting at this point, he tried in vain to slow his breathing thus lowering his rising blood pressure.

 

“Sir, I know this may sound prudent but maybe if we ask your brother Sherlock he could…”

 

“No, my brother is not needed to solve this mess which could have been avoided if you all did your jobs! I swear if any of this gets out to Sherlock it will be termination of all of you!”

 

“Okay, understood! Deep breaths sir, deep breaths; I promise no one from your payroll will alert Sherlock.”

 

“See to it then, I want one team to catch up to Miss Jones and another to tackle Dr. Malachite. I want you to call me the instant that you gain any new information.”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

Hanging up the phone looks around for anything in the room to munch only to find it bereft of anything edible.

Behind him the door creeps open revealing Athena with a tray of finger foods of the sugary nature accompanied by an equally diabetes inducing drink.

 

“Sir, all of the members have been taken care of and I’ll see to Mr. Natsuki’s Skype conversation at six. Please take the rest of the day to relax.”

 

Accepting the sugary confections Mycroft shakes his head, “There is no rest for the wicked my dear, I need to end this goose chase before we’re all facing Mummy’s wrath.”

 

Returning to her cellphone and planting herself on another surface Athena makes no mention that she’s heard him, “Besides you’re no good to me if you’re dead on your feet.”

 

Seeing his inbox filled with more messages from Mummy Mycroft assured her, “Trust me Athena, if I can’t find where the data’s been placed, death will be the least of our worries.”


	6. The Crossroads or it sucks to be right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it wouldn't be so bad to be wrong.

You were positive of so many things in your life right now; it just brought you to tears.

 

In fact you had been crying the entire walk here…wherever here was, you couldn’t be assed to care right now.

You were _positive_ that you were going to have one hell of a difficult year, school or not.

You were _positive_ that your parents were going to tear you a new one, never mind if it was even your fault at all.

You were _positive_ that you were going to kill Dr. Malachite and that evil nurse Patricia slowly and roast them under a low burning flame, season them with soy sauce and feed them to their families.

 

But at this moment you were _positive_ that you were indeed **pregnant.**

 

Up the duff.

Bun in the oven.

In a family way.

Motherly even.

 

It’s enough to make your knees weak, oh look a bench, prefect timing.

 

Looking around for the first time in what must be hours (or minutes hard to tell when you’re dazed from a shock) you find you’ve walked yourself into Regent Park.

 _Wow, I went pretty far_ , you think.

 

In fact the bench you’re sitting right in front of the playground where there’s a small army of children dripping off the play area.

How fitting.

 

Absently your hand flies to your mid-section as you see a young kid toddle from the sandbox to the kiddie slide with its mom hovering only inches behind.

That _could_ be you in a few years.

 

Hearing a loud squeal alerts your attention to the little girl on the swing set swinging her chubby legs with all her might as her daddy pushes her.

The glee and euphoria etched on her face as she squirms about in mid swing.

Childish gibberish littering the air with little to no sense to be made and play battles covering the grass.

 

No, that **would** be you in a few years.

 

There’s no way you could get rid of this baby or pass it off to someone else.

You could never kill someone that was a part of you or leave it to wonder what it had done wrong to not deserve your love.

This was your baby, possibly the only one you’d ever have.

 

I mean you haven’t even made a serious shot of dating now, what are the odds that you’d mange to find, date, and marry (and hopeful the same one) guy who would willing have a baby with you and not want to kill him after five years or marriage?

 

Somehow you really doubt that, you’re not nearly that lucky.

 

Nope, this was it.

Besides after this baby it’ll be even more complicated to find a man willing to date you while pregnant, hell when the baby’s here the pickings are even slimmer.

 

If you went through with this, you could be here too with a child of your own. A little boy or girl that looked like you and…whatever the other guy was.

 

That was another point too, you had no idea who this kid’s father was. It wasn’t Dr. Malachite’s that much you could be sure of because while a man can produce sperm to the day he dies it loses its potency after fifty.

 

Young fertile woman or not there’s no way his sperm could have done the job.

And from his background you know he only has a daughter and she in turn had only one of her own.

So the real question is the identity of the sperm donor.

 

Does he even know that his sperm was used or was this planned?

 

Sitting on the park bench you hardly noticed the fact that the sun no longer was warming your face or that the crowds had gone.

 

 _I should probably go back before Hercules and Helena call the cops to find me_ , you thought, _last thing I need is the cops at my doorstep._

Pace brisk you head home hoping that it hasn’t come to that yet, you know how crazy your neighbors can be concerning your safety, that last semester was proof enough.

 

Walking through empty streets you find that your apartment not overrun with cops but with the workers from Hercules shop and some of scattered neighbors armed with troch lights, shovels, and bats.

Mr. Frodo must be having a fit with all these strange people afoot.

 _Jesus Christ,_ you think as you wade through the people and look for the center of the madness where you find Hercules and Helena in the command central in your kitchen with an overly large map of London.

 

Upon seeing you both Greek neighbors rush you with hugs, knocking everyone and anyone elderly or handicapped that was in the way.

Many leaving knowing good and well they’d get their turns on another day, as both Mr. and Mrs. Papadopoulos were not forces to be trifled with.

 

“ **Bambina**! There you are! We were going to send out a search party!” Hercules exclaims picking you up in a big hug before transferring rights to his impatient wife.

 

“We were so worried! You just ran out of your apartment! You didn’t answer your cellphone!” Helena accuses receiving you readily her perfume more tolerable than that of her husband’s brand.

 

“You looked so pale!”

 

“What did the test say?”

 

Putting a little space between you and your neighbors with your arm you look at them, “ The test was positive. Yes that means I’m going to be a mother.”

 

It was amazing really, how the human face can filter so many emotions in an instant from joy, fear, concern, anger, and confusion.

 

“But then who’s the father bambina? You can’t do this all by yourself! Babies are a lot of work!”

 

Helena slaps her husband on the shoulder, “Of course she’s not doing it herself Hercules; we’ll help as well!”

 

Hercules for his part looks surprised at his wife, “I know! But what about the man, huh? He has to be held responsible too!”

 

“I don’t know who he is Hercules!” you shout back, you really don’t mean to yell but these two are so loud and you just can’t help getting a little hysterical by saying it aloud.

 

Not knowing whose baby you could be carrying or what to do when you find out. Demand child support? Marry him? These things were supposed to be problems for other people that couldn’t keep it in their pants; not you.

 

“She should tell the police! A man that can’t stand by his mistakes needs to be punished!” Hercules yells back at his wife for some comment you were deaf to during your mental whining.

 

“Guys!”

 

Both Hercules and Helena turn their attention back to you. “No, I don’t know who the father is or even if he’s aware this happened at all but I intend to find out.”

 

“So you going to go to the police?” Helena broaches her arms ready to snag another comforting hug if you weren’t mindful.

 

You grimace as your stomach starts to roll, “ Yes, I will…just not tonight.”

 

“We understand bambina, you’ve had a lot on your plate.”

 

At this point you’ve collapsed onto your sofa where Mr. Frodo sensing that all the other people had gone made his appearance to shamelessly beg for pets.

 

“In fact we should celebrate bambina! You’re going to be a mama! How about I make you some of that soup you like so much and Helena can pick up that bread from the corner? I know you haven’t eaten all day.”

 

You’re so tired that you don’t even dig deeper into that statement and just enjoy the little help you do have. They’re not fairy godparents or secret agent spies but they’re here for you.

 

Giving into Mr. Frodo’s pleas you start to scratch him, “Sure.”

As Hercules and Helena strode out your door with promises of food and company your mind was elsewhere.

 

You were going to get some answers tomorrow, you had no school or work, if anything you weren’t going to leave Scotland Yard without some form of closure.

It was either that or bust.


	7. The Video or it sucks to live a fairy tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are reasons we only watch the Disney cleaned fairy tales.

Somewhere between the ride from Parliament to his home Mycroft must have fallen asleep or he had been drugged.

 

 _At least I can rule out drugging as my tongue doesn’t feel like a dead hamster has made a refuge in my mouth_ he thought as he straightened a kink in his neck.

How else would he had ended up dressed in his silk pajamas and tucked into six hundred count cotton Egyptian thread sheets that graced his memory foam mattress with firmness control settings.

If Mycroft was still had a semblance of energy he would have continued his search for the missing data.

Rolling from his back Mycroft stared hard at his atomic clock which glared back the time in bold letters 10:39 PM.

 

_Goodness did I really sleep for almost 19 hours?_

All that time that could have been better spent was now lost to his body’s weakness!

 

Feeling more confident that he wasn’t going to fall flat on his face from fatigue Mycroft grabbed his best night robe and stalked the elaborate walls of his country home to his equally efficient home office.

 

If there was anything that Mycroft had learned from the past is that anything he left unattended in his life (Sherlock, friendships, Sherlock, governments, and Sherlock) could easily be manipulated or destroyed without his direct supervision.

 

Thrusting open the doors to his private office Mycroft finds that it already has as he observes Athena sitting beside the desk expertly still twiddling on her smart phone and Mr. Smith sitting opposite of his desk holding a small cardboard box.

 

His desktop computer was already fired up blinking indicated that a video message had been received.

It didn’t take a genius or a John to figure out what needed to be done so Mycroft sat at his desk and held his hand out for the box only to be rebuffed by Smith.

 

“I’m sorry sir, but I was told not to give this to you until you watch the video.”

 

“Come now Smith, we both know the box and its contents are meant for me. So please proffer the box so I can-”

 

“Sir just watch the damned video already. We’ve had it since 2pm and its for your eyes only.”

 

Both men turn to the usual silent Athena as she sternly gestured to the computer screen, “We’ve all had a long day trying to aide you sir and we’d appreciate it if you’d get with the program.”

 

Observing the shadows and anxiety were both evident on their faces from the past few days Mycroft conceded and hit the play button on the screen.

The blank screen dissolved into a colorful computer room lined with crudely draw stick figures and littered with handmade objects, and there sitting amongst the creations was Dr. Collin Malachite.

 

Sitting there in a poorly made sweater the man smiled with a mocking salute, “Good evening Mr. Holmes! I see your people have finally managed to track me down as it were.”

 

A sudden squeal in the background distracts the doctor momentarily before he continues, “I hope you can understand why I didn’t want your men anywhere near my family. God knows I’d hate to explain to my daughters or my wife how the big scary men in suits came for me.”

 

He chuckles a bit at the thought and then grimaces, “Family’s very important Mr. Holmes, it’s not something you should take lightly or out of duty.”

_Great, another story filled with ‘great knowledge’ brought upon by great suffering._

 

“You probably think I’m going to tell you some sob story about fixing your priorities and such huh? Well, tough luck. I know you have an _extensive_ reach and resources Mr. Holmes so you can do the reading yourself. I have no time to preach to those who would not listen; especially to someone that believes to know it all.”

 

 _Small miracles,_ Mycroft thinks.

 

By now the doorway behind Dr. Malachite is being pounded on as Dr. Malachite turns to it, “Sweetie I’ll be out there in a minute, Grandpa’s almost done!”

 

This time the face Dr. Malachite’s face is more serious, “I saw what you ordered. You actually commissioned to have a baby with some Swedish model without a lick of motherly instincts to boot! She treated the whole thing like it was getting monthly Botox injections. ‘Let’s get this over with so I can start a new target campaign for motherhood.’”

 

Dr. Malachite’s face was one of complete disgust at the mere mention of the memory.

 

“Babies aren’t stepping stones, they are not some family duty; they are small miracles Mr. Holmes. They are flesh and blood; that need to be loved and nurtured not set up with a nanny or engaged only during formal social events or holidays. How you expected to raise a child with that woman with no love is not something I was willing to stand for.”

 

At this point the door is thrown open by a very energetic five year old girl dressed in a pink and purple fairy tale costume carrying a plastic katana who throws herself on her great grandfather’s lap and then points to the screen, “ Grandpa who’re you talkin’ to?”

 

Dr. Malachite face softens as he tickles her chin, “Grandpa’s talking to a very naughty ice king who thought he could get whatever he wanted without consequence.”

The five year old scrunched her face at the word, “What’s that?”

 

“It means the silly Billy thought he could have his cake and eat it too.”

 

The little girl seems horrified at the idea, “Why can’t he have the cake and eat it?”

 

“Because my dear the cake the bad Ice King thought he could order is a very special cake that can’t be had without the proper plate.”

 

She puts a little fist to her chin in what Mycroft assumed was a thinking pose, “So are you goin’ help the Ice King find the right plate then Grandpa?”

 

Hugging his great granddaughter close he says, “I’m doing the Ice King an even better favor sweetie, I’m helping him the whole set. I’m helping him find his princess and child.”

 

At this the little girl gasps selectively not hearing the word child in favor of princess, “A real **princess!** For real? Like, really, really real Grandpa? Is she really pretty and kind like Snow White? **OH!** Does she fight like Eliza from _Frozen_? Are you going off on a quest to find her for the Ice King?”

 

“No, sweetie, you see Grandpa’s very old and your grandmother would be really cross if I went on an adventure now. But I am helping; you see I’ve sent the Ice King a box to help him find her. You remember when we watched _Cinderella_ right?”

 

“Yeah! She had the most beautous dress and she danced and then lost her shoe! Grandpa did the princess lose her shoe?”

 

“Something like that, Mr. Holmes in that box is the key to finding both your princess and your child. God speed and I pray that you at least learn from your mistakes before you find her. She’s a good girl and a far better mother than what you deemed fit.”

 

The five year old now launches herself from her great grandfather lap and into the computer camera, “Good luck Ice King Man! Make sure to give the princess lotsa and lotsa kisses , bring her presents, and tell her she’s pretty!”

 

Chuckling at his great granddaughter’s antics while still shadowed by her figure Dr. Malachite leaves a parting statement, “You can go ahead and give him the box now Smith. Good Luck.”

And with that the video ends and the box is placed in Mycroft’s hands.


	8. The Yard or it sucks when cops are lazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't give me that look.  
> There are cops like this in the world.

After losing what you ate last night with Helena and Hercules you pulled on your battle dress (a smart looking pair of jeans that still fit, a blouse that didn’t strain against your chest, and a comfortable shoes) and head to the New Scotland Yard alone.

 

There’s no way in hell you were bringing Helena ( no matter how much saner she is than her darling husband) she’d go ballistic in their faces and get you kicked out.

And that’s _after_ she damns them to hell.

No, you’ve seen that first hand when you were trying to shop with her one time at a once a year sale.

You still can’t go back to that store to this day no matter how you disguise yourself…

 

If you brought Hercules he’d get arrested after assaulting the police officers and threatening the general public.

You didn’t really need to explain this one…the search party was enough.

You know if Hercules had pitchforks and butcher knives he would have had them applied to anyone searching for you last night.

And bringing them both…you may not be in the top five percentile but you’re smarter than _that._

 

So you braved the long ride to New Scotland Yard since there was no way you were walking, three blocks are nothing but twelve? No way, you may be in the early stages of your pregnancy but even you knew that wouldn’t be wise. It was just better for you and the baby’s health to ride the way there no matter how low your funds were.

 

A few minutes into the ride you’re glad you did, it’s starting to rain and you didn’t bring an umbrella.

Wafting a little under the influence of the rain you allow yourself time to daydream about the next step in your quest for answers.

 

If the police could bring Dr. Malachite back they could grill him for answers and figure out what his game was all about. Then they could find who the father was, and then after locating and alerting the father you could come to terms on how you’d handle this unplanned baby.

 

Hopeful the father would at least be susceptible to an idea of a baby and not immediately demand you stay out of his life with it.

 

Thinking back on that you figure the father has to be an older man, not too many young guys donate their sperm unless it’s for quick cash or they think they’ll never find love.

Maybe he already had a family? What if it was a mistake or something he forgot about doing?

Your chest hurt at the thought.

 

Imagine some random chick walking in your life saying , “Hey I know I just met you but I’m carrying your baby!”

You could easily see the guy panic, deny it, or request a restraining order.

Or if he had a family his partner demanding the baby be given over to them since he’s the father or forcing him to shun the child as a bastard.

 

Regardless of the shared genes there’s no way you’d let the baby’s daddy treat your child that way.

You’d kill him first.

 

But then the big question shot up: how the hell would you tell your parents?

 

All your life you’ve had a set of rules for both you and your brothers.

And while your brothers got the okay to fool around you being the oldest had the short end of the stick with responsibilities and strict guidelines.

Like no sleeping around, no drugs, no drinking, finish school with top marks, get a career and job they’ll respect, get a house, get married, and have a baby from wedlock.

Failure to cooperate would bring shame and pain upon your person.

 

_God I hope I can find that guy so we can explain it to them._

Your parents hardly believe you to begin with thanks to their belief that lying that _one_ time that you were always lying.

And it was for a good cause too!

 

But that’s beside the point, the point is that without the science and the other guy there to validate your claims you were screwed.

So as the cab slowed down in front of New Scotland Yard you fish out some bills for the fare, it was this or nothing. The first big step to solving the mystery or a dead end that would leave you high and dry.

 

You open the door and walk as quickly and safely as you can up the steps into the building.

 

 _New Scotland Yard was run by idiots_ , you fume as you finally leave the office of what is supposed to be the chief in charge of assault, battery, and rape cases.

 

The man looked just as harassed as you did even armed in your most sensible grown-up clothes for your allotted time. His eyes heavy with darker bags than his skin pigmentation, his hair a bit under kept and clothing dull from overuse.

 

You spent a better part of three hours trying to explain the situation to the DI.

And you will admit in the later, two hours of making your case you _may_ have lost your temper but you’ll blame the hormones to the day you die.

It had started off so civilly in the beginning.

 

“So why are you here again?” the DI questions from behind his computer screen ready to file the report.

 

“I did not consenting to being impregnated, I signed nothing to mute that point and you know who did it,” you parrot back calmly ready to fire off more details of the nefarious Dr. Malachite and his evil henchman, Patricia.

 

A few keystrokes and the DI began again.

“Alright then, why didn’t you report it sooner?”

 

“Because I didn’t know I was pregnant! Most people wouldn’t be able to figure it out anyway for the first month and a half! Did you really expect me to accuse a guy without evidence?”

Honestly, even you weren’t stupid enough to do that, college debt notwithstanding.

 

“How do you figure out you were pregnant?”

 

“Gee, there were some signs, bigger boobs, morning sickness, and the fact I’ve missed a period!”

Really, this guy was going the right way down the wrong road to pummel town.

 

“And you’re sure you know who the guy was?”

 

“YES! It was Dr. Collin Malachite! He was the one attending me during the black out!”

 

And yet the DI was still typing out things out like this wasn’t a big deal,“So drugs were involved?”

 

“YES! They knocked me out with drugs before they did it.”

 

“Alright how long have you been using drugs?”

 

“I don’t use them recreationally dumdass; I had them forced into my system by Dr. Malachite!”

Yeah…that comment maybe a bit harsher than it should be but dammit, you’re so frustrated.

And hungry, man-you could really go for another fast-food joint right now but you’re here with this idiot instead.

 

“But you’re admitting you have a blank period of time. Therefore you can’t be a hundred percent sure that it was him.”

 

“Yes I can! I can calculate it down to the very hour of the was the day I got impregnated! I wouldn’t even be here is this was consensual!”

 

More clicking commences before the DI speaks again,“So do you know where to find the accused?”

 

“Yeah, he was moving to Canada with his wife and family.”

 

At this point the DI is just staring at you before taking his hands off his keyboard to look at you fully, “Look here miss___ if he’s out of the country he’s not our jurisdiction anymore. Let me level with you here, you seem like a smart girl. It’s nothing personal but you’re just a kid and that’s a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

 

He removes his glasses to rub his eyes, “Now, if you were someone important like family member of Parliament or something that might be worth the extra hours. But as it stands now we don’t have the man power or resources to investigate this. The best we can do is make a file and hopeful some other young sleuth looking for an opportunity for advancement might take it or when we get the resources we’ll look into it.”

 

If you looked up silent fury in the dictionary, your picture would be the prime example.

 

Never in your life had you wanted to slug a guy so much in your life and that includes the bullies you had in middle school but that small part of your brain keeps you from doing just that in a police station crawling with officers.

 

When you get in that elevator you look like demon commander in training as you storm out and towards the door.

You don’t have to look out the windows to see it’s still raining, the thunder is a good enough indicator.

 

The waves of rage emanating off your person is enough to make all other officers step out of your path.

As you near the door a tall dark haired man shoots through it nearly smacking you with the door, you’re in such a state of mind that you’re about to physical tear the man a new hole if it weren’t for the man that came after.

 

He’s shorter than the other man but far kinder as he holds open the door and then finding you have no umbrella offers you his brolly.

You thank the man while trying (and failing) to keep your black mood.

 

It’s no use.

If you can’t find help here you’ll have to look elsewhere.

 

Sighing you hail a cab in the rain and step into the first one that pulls up.

 _I’m not giving up,_ you promise to your bump, _I’ll find your daddy and make sure your grandparents don’t kill us._

The rain’s pouring harder as you hit the main road, traffic is backed up again.

 

_I promise if it’s the last thing I do._


	9. The Trip or it sucks to be inexpendable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Smith mans up and things get somewhat clearer.

The incompetence that was his task force was awe inspiring.

If Sherlock thought he was in hell for merely working side by side with the moronic masses then Mycroft was definitely in purgatory.

 

Less than twenty-four hours ago had been handed a parcel from Dr. Malachite contained only a well-worn cooper bracelet riddled with bits and pieces of trash collected on its ring.

Had this been some sort of political screw up or war his elite team of agents would have had everything cleared up before his next assignment but no, this proved to be beyond their skill set as it seems.

 

Finding and vanquishing a terrorist cell under the radar?

No problem.

 

Locating and retrieving a president’s family member abductee using a toothbrush and a text message emoji?

Not even a challenge.

 

Finding a single woman in London based on her bracelet?

Apparently that was asking too much.

 

At the very least the stress was doing great leaps and bounds for his diet; lost a total of five pounds and possibly some of his hair along with it.

That coupled by the constant calls, observations, and appearances from Mummy Mycroft was certain he would be under-weight by the year’s end.

 

He was seriously contemplating updating his qualifications for these positions, problems and gaps at these proportions simply would not _do._

 

A steel plate off of a shoe tag with several letters crudely etched in it, part of an acorn shell, a small shard of shiny pink plastic, a sparkly plastic bead, a striped glass bead, a small shell from the beach chipped in two places, a candy wrapper that had been lamented, and what appeared to be a single small pearl hanging by a plastic snare.

 

Here Mycroft was ten minutes before having to board another flight to France to ‘visit’ the prime minister about his latest scandal and Smith is already causing him to have second thoughts.

 

“The DNA evidence was inconclusive sir, whoever wore the bracelet either cleaned it regularly or Dr. Malachite tampered with it. We did find that the shell came originated Blackpool Sands in South Devon.”

 

“Is that all you have?”

 

“Of course not sir, by the pigmentation of the cooper and dates from the candy wrapper we can safely conclude that whoever was planted with the data is at least legal. We pin her age between the ages of twenty-one to twenty-four. Right handed due to the scratches found all over the surface. The glass bead is the newest addition and actually was a pretty pricey considering it’s from the Pandora collection. Probably not bought by the woman in question but given as a gift, most likely a birthday which leads us to believe it was quite recent.”

 

_6 minutes until the departure…_

 

The aggravation on Mycroft’s face was enough to cause a lesser man to flee for the loo but Smith soldiered on, “The only DNA evidence we did find was that ‘pearl’ object stuck to the bracelet was actually a tooth from a deceased gentleman, Mr. Ashton William Stout, age 22 born and raised in Berwick-upon-Tweed, Northumberland.”

“Did you find any information on the man I presume?”

 

Smith forked over the documents as he continued on, “Yes, from the police and cornier report Mr. Stout was murdered in 1995, beat to death and then buried in the denser part of Berwick-upon-Tweed. According to the paperwork his body wasn’t recovered until six months after his death and there were no suspects save for an old man a Sheldon Marcus Devon, American immigrant currently deceased, and a little girl ____, ____ five at the time, location unknown.”

 

_4 minutes…_

 

“So what do we know about the girl then?”

At this Smith looks instantly guilty, “Nothing sir.”

 

“ _Nothing?”_

Suddenly telling the French prime minister to bloody well shove it and personally lead the investigation was becoming very appealing and all the more likely to happen today.

 

“Sir, we’re sorry but any information pertaining to ____, ____ was erased from the data banks. If anything Mr. and Mrs. ____ probably were put into the wittiness protection program to hide. But even searching the system we can’t find them.”

 

_3 minutes until his flight was scheduled to take off…_

 

Athena placed a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, “Mr. Holmes we really need to be on the plane right now. Missing this meeting with the French Prime minister is a top priority on our agenda.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t argue with that, if he wanted to keep a good face with France for England’s sake he needed to board the plane.

That doesn’t make it any less painfully to climb the stairs into the plane leaving Smith in charge.

If only Athena wasn’t so invaluable to his work.

She gently herded him into the plane as Smith stood there waiting for direction.

 

“ I want a team to physically head down to Berwick-upon-Tweed and do a full sequester on the case. I don’t care if you have to go door to door; by the time I come back in 24 hours I want to know who and where ____, _____ is.”

 

“But sir, if we just asked Sherlock-”

Mycroft stills at the cabin door and quickly turns at Smith, “What did we discuss?”

“That we weren’t to involve Sherlock?”

 

“ Under no circumstances is Sherlock to be made aware; he can take off with my finest brandies, deface my office, or harass my help but under no circumstances is Sherlock will not know of this bracelet, this ____,____ or case. I don’t care if you give him all the classified cases in the vault as long as it’s not this one. Are we clear?”

 

“Sir, we really need to take off now or we’ll be late,” Athena pushes as she starts to literally shove Mycroft’s upper body back into the plane.

 

“Crystal Clear, sir.”

 

Backing away from the runway Mr. Smith watched as his boss and assistant took to the skies.

 _Looks like I can kiss that welcome home party for my parents’ good-bye_ Smith thought miserably.

Straightening his suit jacket Smith headed to the car and started making calls, he had a job to do not just for himself but for his family.

 

And he’d be damned if he failed them now.

He knew that Mummy Holmes was watching their every move and he was going to out maneuver her.


	10. The Suitor or it sucks to not have a car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really you need a car or something because this isn't going to fly...

Since the incident at New Scotland Yard two days ago you’ve been elected as a worthy cause in your apartment complex.

All that was given was well meaningful and thoughtful…in a general sense.

At least you hoped so, that ugly wooden bear beaver sculpture that was given by a widower Mr. Kumara two floors up certainly was…interesting and sure to give both you and the baby nightmares.

 

This was great considering how much debt you racked up in student loans to pay for college, affording a crib, diapers, and clothes when you live on 250 a month?

Not even with _every_ coupon in existence could buy the bare necessities.

 

You and Mr. Frodo can barely get by on what you do make because Hercules and Helena feed you and asking your parents for money would only clue them in to your plight and you are so not ready to face them without proof.

 

Besides they still had your younger brothers to tend to, begging them for extra cash would be a **big** black mark against your person.

Worse than the time you lied.

So you accepted any and all help that you could with your best attitude and an open heart if not for yourself but this baby.

 

Which means you have been gifted many hand me downs, clothes, furniture, food, their sons, and tons of unsolicited advice on child rearing, pregnancies, child birth, and early development from almost every person in the building save Ms. Tootsie who was bed ridden.

 

This only meant that you had to visit her for **several** hours until you had to remind her for the 36 th time that you had to be at work in the next hour.

This brings us to the now as it was almost time for your shift to end.

 

Thankfully no one at work or school has gotten wind of your condition since you’re still in the first trimester.

It’s not that you were ashamed of your baby but you didn’t want to say anything yet when things were still uncertain.

You may not have a reputation but you sure as hell weren’t going to start one now.

 

Since that day Hercules has sent one of his workers (all volunteers he swears) to walk you to and from work.

The guys are older, strong, and ( _single!_ Helena would remind you every time you were dropped off at the door) and a nice lot coming from hard working families near the apartment complex so you don’t feel too bad for Hercules using their time to protect you.

To which you’re eternally grateful for as there’s been a recent murders in London targeting young women in the downtown area during the twilight hours.

 

Those poor girls where raped and sliced open; then left to die as their intestine’s fall due to gravity and left in alleys covered by litter.

Since then police have sworn they were patrolling the area and securing the people but after dealing with the Yard you’re inclined to believe it’s a load of bull.

 

You’ve been at work all day and you haven’t seen a single cop make its rounds down the block.

Grabbing your coat and bag make your way to the front of the store under a lit lamp post to wait for your volunteer escort.

 

 _Odd they’re usually here by now,_ you think as you check your phone.

Looking around the area you see nothing and the new moon isn’t making it any easier.

All of your other coworkers have left at this point making you the lone figure in front of the empty building.

 

Your apartment’s not that far from here, maybe about a twenty minute walk, fifth-teen if you run.

 

You’re not one to freak out at every shadow but with a killer on the loose, you have another life to think about, you’re hungry for those gross pork pies, and hormones raging you’re a hot mess.

A **hormonal** hot mess armed only with keys and a purse.

That and it’s getting late and you do have an early morning class with that professor who’s out for blood.

 

At this point you’re just going to start walking yourself home those six blocks posed with your keys in hand like Wolverine when you see a shadow approach you calling your name.

Putting your arm down you think, _Thank god_ as the figure continues to you, it isn’t until the shadow reaches the light then you can only think of how you’d rather the killer or some homeless man begging for change.

 

No, what you get is Ricardo De Luca.

 

Now you’re not usually one to judge appearances but the vibe that oozed off the guy made you wary of him immediately.

Those shifty eyes that looked anywhere but your face, that fake smile when you talk to him it never reaches past his nose, greasy hair that reeks of that cheap cologne; and that mocking tone when he talks to you.

 

Ricardo showed up one day at Hercules and Helena’s doorstep begging for a place to stay, and being the sweet (naïve) souls they are, let him in.

He worked part-time for Hercules and Helena at the shop during that time period of two months personal items and money ‘mysteriously’ disappeared much to your neighbors’ dismay. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out the math, but god if your phone had been charged and armed you could have proof that the jerk was the thief.

 

You _almost_ had it!

And that bastard _knew_ it in the way he’d smugly grin at you as he worked around the shop and followed you around.

 

Cute or not your Hercules and Helena would never believe that Ricardo could do anything wrong. If it can to a contest of trust between you two Ricardo would when _every_ damned time. Nothing you could say or do would convince them otherwise.

 

When that Italian rat finally left for ‘urgent family business’ you were internally cheering harder than a college cheerleader during scouting season at his sudden departure; the ass was gone!

But now that the man’s in front of you, alone, at night, on unpatrolled streets where CTVs are far and few in between you quickly twine your keys in your fingers.

 

You did your best to look nonplussed as he offered you an arm but you brushed it off an start speed walking.

Ricardo jumps to catch up to you, “____ is that anyway to treat a good looking gentleman?”

 

Not even turning around you spout back, “When one shows up I’ll show exactly how well I treat a good looking gentleman.”

 

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special huh?”

_If I had a real weapon I’d show you how ‘special’…_

 

Now he’s walking closer as you try to subtly out walk him.

“Babe, are you still sore about last time?”

Silently you stride faster.

 

“Can’t say I blame ya, smart college girl like you getting foiled by little ole me? Must be a real stab to your ego huh babe?”

_5 more blocks…why can’t he take a hint?_

 

“Don’t worry babe, I promise I’m here to stay. Hell, I’m even here on official business for a few months; got a private investor of sorts that’s taken an interest in my many talents.”

You seriously don’t want to dwell on his many ‘talents’ either.

The only thought running in your mind is go home **now.**

 

_4 more blocks…I wonder if I can run it?_

Now Ricardo is making a grab for your hand still clutching keys like a lifeline, “Yup, I’m really bringing in the dough ____, making all the right connections, and getting stronger. I can bench 220 now.”

 

All the while you’ve been avoided his questing fingers every which way. This game lasted all of 3 minutes before the bastard had a death grip on your hand.

 

“Yup, I’d say I’m turning into quite the catch. If Helena’s opinion is anything to go by but you know how she is; always seeing the best in people even when it’s not there.”

At this rate you’re about chew off your own arm at 3 block mark.

 

“I heard you got knocked up.”

_Must walk faster…_

 

“So who’s the lucky bastard?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I think it is, my girl carrying some ass’s kid. Helena says that even you don’t know who the father is.”

“Regardless that’s my problem not yours.”

 

Now he’s got you stopped at the 2 block mark with your hand slowly losing color, you’re both well within sight of the building.

The look on his face is serious even under the cover of night, “I can make it my problem. I got connections with the right people babe. They can find anything or anyone using nothing. I can find this scumbag and take him to town. Show him what happens when he touches something that isn’t his.”

 

At this point Ricardo’s pulled you closer than you ever want to be to his person without a knife, the stench of his deodrant and last drink still fresh; it was like the jerk just woke up and hit the pub before coming, “Just think about you, me, a couple of kids and maybe even that bastard child if it looks like you, living it up.”

 

Dear god his greasy hands are in your _hair_ and he’s _twisting_ it further!

If the fact that Ricardo is invading your personal space was bad enough on moonless night with no wittiness this was worse.

You are so going to scrub yourself clean with antibiotic soap when you get home!

Ricardo’s breath smells worse as he brings his face closer, you’re praying to every deity imaginable for divine intervention.

 

“We can be a family, you’ll make them smart and pretty and I’ll make them strong and clever. You can be my faithful little housewife and clean my tools when I get home burdened by glorious goods to keep us. Making me your lovely husband dinner…what girl wouldn’t want that?”

 

_This girl right here! I’d rather be with ANYONESLE but YOU! Are you too high to comprehend this?_

For a terrifying moment it looks like he might kiss you if it weren’t for the loud, “Who goes’ there?”

 

 _It’s Mr. Vash, oh thank GOD,_ you think as you’re able to detangle yourself from Ricardo and raced towards the apartment doors.

Out of all your neighbors Mr. Vash has by far the best eyesight coupled with distrust for anything that moves armed with his trusty hand gun and night vision googles.

His apartment was on the top floor so he could run routine ‘surveillances’ on the grounds.

 

None too friendly and always that people state their name an business like some kind of sergeant.

He didn’t like De Luca and liked you well enough not to shoot.

You see babies do that to people, even the crazy gun-toting types.

 

It’s amazing really.

The 3 B’s to bring world peace: babies, beer, and boobs.

But we’re getting off topic and your shoes are slamming into the pavement as you hustle yourself down the last block away from the creep you wish would literally drop dead.

 

You literally flew up two flights of stairs and threw open the door only to scare off the previously sleeping Mr. Frodo into a hissy fit, locked the door, barricaded it, and then found anything that could be used as a weapon stashed in your room.

 

You didn’t get much sleep that night and you were sure that the next few nights wouldn’t get better.

The last thought you had before sleep claimed your frazzled nerves and over-stressed body was that you needed to start carrying around a metal bat or at least get a car.


	11. The Box or it sucks to share DNA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when genetic safe-locks don't work.

_Berwick-upon-Tweed,_ a bruised and sun brunt Smith thought as he reviewed the notes in the file, _wasn’t a waste of time and gas._

 

Upon reaching the small town armed with his coworkers Smith found its people were less than accommodating and more hostile than there pamphlet’s suggested at the visitor’s center.

The Berwick-upon-Tweed was a small town surrounded by water much like a peninsula giving it a summery with its battered boats lining the shores and worn outdoor fish markets. If not for the over-population of elderly citizens operating the place it would be a good area for a younger generation.

 

 _Nicest safest small town to raise a family indeed,_ he snorted as the box sitting on agent Wheeler’s knee bounced and bobbed.

That 20x14 box had all the answers that would ensure his employment but his family’s welfare for generations.

 

When asking for the police reports at the station concerning Ashton William Stout raised a red flag as the officers were reluctant to locate them.

Of course, that meant his team had to ‘find’ the file locked in Chief’s office with much verbal harassment about ‘power’ and ‘privilege’ during the extraction.

The crude jokes made about his appearance and waste of government resources were neither welcomed or funny.

 

The next red flag was when the older residents still present during the investigation refused to talk citing certain rights as British citizens. One woman was aggressive enough to turn on her sprinkler system and then sic her beloved Pit-bull ‘babies’ on them.

Agent Terry barely made it to the car before one of the little buggers took a chunk out of his pant legs and chased down the vehicle down with their stubby legs, yipping all the way.

 

And any of the younger faces that this hellhole managed to collect refused to help outright claiming to have no knowledge of the murder. Smith was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt at first had it not been for the lingering glares from the elders tailing his team made it clear that they’d never squeal.

 

Apparently Brick-upon-Tweed was never quite fond of its history of being England’s football during the medieval periods, tossed about like a token piece between wars, and thus was not kind to anything from the capital.

Or that they were hiding something.

 

Spending another day in the hostile place was excruciating.

No hotel would take them and they ended up sleeping in the company car (although spacious) did not have a toilet or shower.

But Smith pressed on for he had a job to do, so ignoring his comrades’ discomfort they camped in the car and awaited a new day with new prey.

 

It seemed that if Smith and his team weren’t getting answers from the living then they would get them from the dead.

 

Out of all the old souls still lingering in this place it seemed that the morgue was the only source of sensible youth hanging in the begotten town.

The young pretty Indian woman, Dr. Suma Kamen, was on rotation that day Smith and his crew invaded her space (legally of course) demanding information.

Cowed by the badge (and possibly the smell and sight of their disarray) Dr. Kamen gave everything she had concerning Mr. Stout’s death, files and pictures in an varying sizes.

She even threw in Mr. Devon’s files for good measure.

 

So much information that could now be gathered and utilized in finding the girl was now in abundance!

Even if Dr. Kamen had nothing in her files concerning ____,____ it was almost enough to make Smith want to kiss her.

 _Almost_ though, Smith still had a job to do.

 

His team grabbing the evidence Smith was feeling pretty swell about his finds, _surely this will please the boss!_

 

It wasn’t until Smith was about to shut the car door that Dr. Kamen was rushing outside with a large box clutched across her chest in her small arms.

“Wait,” she called as she hustled across the morgue parking lot, “You need to take this too!”

 

Smith being the gentleman that he was stopped to meet Dr. Kamen halfway, “What’s in the box?”

 

“It’s the belongings of Sheldon Marcus Devon, since he had no living relatives here Mr. Devon specially requested that all these things be given to ____,____ upon death. We haven’t been able locate her or her family to unload it. It’s been sitting in storage for years. I figure if you do find ___ you could give it to her, ya?”

 

Smiling Smith accepted the box and with a wave Dr. Kamen disappeared back into the building.

 

As the car started rolling Smith took in the musty box, poorly ducted taped up with marker swiggles on the side in what must be Mr. Devon’s handwriting. The edges are frayed and thin layers revealing small glimpses of the contents inside.

 

Smith isn’t sure what incited him to start peeling back the duct tape, perhaps it was sleeping on the floor of the car, but he did.

And boy was Smith glad he did, amongst the costume clothing, junk, and books there was a picture sticking from the center.

Carefully dragging it out from the other objects Smith found the smoking gun to finding the woman; it was a picture of a gangly Mr. Devon and a small little girl sunnily grinning at the camera in full color.

 

The picture wasn’t even faded or discolored.

Smith could have cried.

 

In fact he may have, if Terry’s grossed out face was anything to go by.

But Smith didn’t give a damn, he texted with a speed that would have made Athena proud…if that was her real name.

Smith wouldn’t know his clearance wasn’t that high enough yet.

 

The entire ride back to Mr. Holmes office to report was laced with a sense of accomplishment, comradely, and joy as they drew nearer.

Their jobs would be saved!

 

Giddy with excitement Smith and his team rushed from the car that now reeked of B.O. and moth ridden clothing into the building.

It wasn’t until they opened the door to Mr. Holmes’s office that their boss seated at his desk did not look pleased at **all.**

 

“Sir, we now have a confirmation on the physical on what ___,___ looked like before the disappearing in the system.”

The frown on Mr. Holmes had not deviated from its position on his face.

 

“Sir, we can run the face through our programs and calculate what she could look like aged.”

Mr. Holmes still had not moved an inch even when Smith placed the picture in front of him.

 

“Sir,” Smith called out cautiously.

 

“Smith from our conversation two days prior what did I inform you what was imperative to keeping your jobs?” Mycroft coldly questions from his throne of power and intimidation.

Smith looked panicked as he took in the office, he didn’t see anything out of place or disturbed.

 

“ **Mr. Smith**.”

 

“Keep Sherlock from learning about the data breech or the bracelet.”

 

Now Mycroft stands and walks toward the book safe hidden within the thousands of tomes stacked in the bookcase.

He opens a book entitled, The Love and The Lost to show its mechanism.

“All of these safe books are genetically dispositional to only open to my finger print signature. Now please enlighten me, what do you see in the book?”

 

“Nothing…”

 

While Mycroft’s face showed nothing but a quiet wave a contempt his set jaw screamed slow and painful murder of all those who failed him.

“Exactly, now how pray tell, where do you think the bracelet is?”

 

Panic was setting in Smith’s body; there was _too much_ riding on this, “Sir, I wasn’t even here! The security cameras must have caught something-”

 

“Do you honestly believe that my brother would not have tampered with my CTV’s to get what he wants?”

 

The conversation is quickly getting darker and colder as Mr. Holmes is about to throw down a verdict, Smith is nearing a state of hysteria, “No sir, because from what I’ve been told about your brother is too _flamboyant_ about his cleverness! He would have been caught on camera just to _prove_ he could get in!”

 

Instantly Mr. Holmes’s face was washed over with an dread and a twitch developed in his right eye.

There were only three people in the world that could and would do something like this to him.

And he knew from his extensive monitoring that Ms. Adler was still in the colonies and Moriarty was somewhere in the backwoods of New Deli.

It only one person could have done this.

 

And if they found the data and carrier first Mycroft couldn’t guarantee their lives or sanity.

“Smith run the child’s face through the system now and prepare a car ready to move as soon as you get a hit. We need to reach the girl before our opponent does.”

“And if we fail?”

 

Mycroft stopped his path to his brandy.

“Failure is not an option. See to it that it doesn’t happen.”


	12. The uninvited or it sucks to be you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we all have these days...

A shit storm of epic proportions was coming along and you knew it, Mr. Frodo knew it, and so did the sandwich maker at Subway. The middle-aged Creole woman with dregs bundled under a sanitary cap behind the counter slapped your sub together as fast as she could and told you it was free if you got the hell up outta her store in the next five seconds.

 

And when you didn’t move fast enough she chased you out with that spatula tray they use to toast the subs.

It was still **hot.**

 

Since the day that Ricardo escorted you back home a few days ago you’ve been on edge with this ominous feeling twisting in your lower belly that wasn’t contributed to your parasite.

Checking both the area around you and your phone the pair are devoid of any hindrances.

 

He wasn’t staying at the apartment complex with Hercules and Helena which meant the dirt bag could be _anywhere._

Could be standing outside one of your classes.

He might be loitering around your place of work.

Shit, the guy knows where you live and you don’t have close enough friends that will let you crash at their place for a week.

 

One of the many joys of the ‘stay a virgin’ plan: don’t associate with anyone that can and will aide in the defiling of you physically.

Which meant that when you did construct friendships they weren’t exceptional strong enough to warrant such privileges such as ‘crashing’ or ‘nights out;’ ah-the joys of being anti-social for the sake of virginity.

 

Instead you were the study buddy or the girl someone ate lunch with because their BFF wasn’t present.

Thinking back now you _may_ have gone a bit overboard.

 

It was bad enough that you received plenty of stress from school work and from your part time job but this was unhealthy.

This Ricardo thing had you in such a bend that you’ve yet to make a prenatal appointment to check on the baby.

 

 _Crap, I needed to buy those pregnancy supplements today,_ you thought as you pressed the button for the cross walk.

As the light signaled you to cross, _I can do that after lunch, I’ve had a shit day in class._

 

Professor made a real effort to get under the classes skin by supplying a mountain of homework due by the end of the week; just what you needed to add to the _other_ piles of homework that needed to be completed.

Professors are such _lovely_ creatures.

 

Every weapon (real or imagined) shoved in various places in your bedsit just in the event you met with trouble.

You were a young woman carrying around a metal baseball bat everywhere you went for _Pete’s Sake_! Hell, you don’t even play the game!

In fact you can’t even recall where you got the bat in the first place, since you’ve never had a taste for athletics.

 

It didn’t help that the weather didn’t look good, all gloomy and foreboding. If this was a story you’d assume that something bad would be waiting for you at the next corner or that you’d be ambushed at some point. But life rarely follows cliché scripts so you try (and fail) to give the air of a normal non paranoid young lady with a less noticeable baby bump.

 

Trudging up the residence stairway carrying a sub, your text books, and a sizeable headache you have a process you wish to complete. All you wanted to do is sit down and eat your sandwich before braving the outside world again for baby related items.

 

Seconds before reaching your door you hear the feral hisses from inside.

_Mr. Frodo!_

 

Hercules and Helena are both at the shop while most of the other tenants are either out and about or unable to hear your screams for help. Gripping your bat from your back you know you’re on your own here.

Anyone could be in there, like Ricardo or some other degenerate that was looking for quick cash armed with a weapons or a posse.

 

It vaguely passes through your mind that you could just walk away and report a break in but when you hear more aggravated yowls and something breaking you were ready for a brawl. This was a crappy bedsit but it’s YOUR crappy bedsit and that was your furry baby in their getting harassed while your unborn human baby was also at risk.

 

You saw red.

No one threatens you, your place of residence, or your babies real or imagined!

 

Throwing open the door (after you stealthily unlocked it) you charge into your flat with the mindset _FOR FRODO p_ layed on repeat as you start swinging. You didn’t ask questions you took action, because there was no reason whatsoever for him to be there. NONE.

 

The man found in your apartment had no chance.

 

You could hear the bones crunch as you swung at his face and continued to beat the man into the floor until he stopped moving. A large piece of plastic was sent flying. Or at least until Mr. Vash from upstairs started stamping the floor boards to get you to shut up.

 

Your sense of time may have been altered by the surge of adrenaline.

 

After the initial bloodlust leave you bend over with the bat strategically near his neck like a sword to check the body for a pulse.

_Yup, he’s still living…Christ, I nearly killed him too._

 

It’s obvious the nose is broken, his left hand is swollen, and you’re sure you’ve heard some ribs crack as well.

 _Could have internal bleeding_ you think as you open the intruders’ airway by positioning his head with a pillow.

 

There’s blood splattered from when you first hit him, spittle on the floor from when he hit the floor, and a broken glass that was a remint of an abandoned late breakfast.

You don’t see any other breakage displaying how the man came into your apartment or anything touched really save above mentioned glass and a very disgruntled cat batting at the body.

Had you been a clearer state of mind you would have called both the police and paramedics but you’re stressed, hormonal, and _very_ hungry.

 

You call Hercules and Helena instead.

 

When the pair come rushing through your unlocked door you’re sitting on the couch eating your sub while fighting the advancing paws making grabs for it.

You are the prefect picture of chill if you ignored the bloody baseball bat at your side. Even if this faint moaning sound was persistently filling the air. If anyone felt disturbed by it they failed to mention it.

 

“ **Bambina!** What happened?”

“Are you alright? Who is this man?”

“No clue. But he’s here and I don’t know what to do with him,” reply from around the last bits of sandwich.

 

Helena carefully walks around the body, looking at it and then sitting beside you on the seat, “Is he dead?”

Shrugging off Mr. Frodo's advances towards licking the food crumbs off your fingers you casually say,“No, he’s still breathing but I may have broken his nose, cracked some ribs, and sprained his wrists.”

The moans are getting more frequently and it’s not coming from the man on the floor.

 

“Where _is_ that noise coming from?”

“Not a clue,” you say crumpling the sandwich wrapper.

The moaning is now going constantly.

 

Hercules sits in the opposite spot next to the bat.

“ _Jesus_ …”

“Indeed.”

Explaining in detail what went down with a few foggy spots when it came to how many times you beat the intruder.

At this point the moaning stops and a phone rings

 

“Bambina you need to call the police so they can arrest this bozo!”

“Cops my phootie! They don’t do anything! What she needs to do is-”

At this point the body below you started to stir.

The out of sight phone continues to ring.

 

Helena screams and Hercules immediately pounds the man in the face.

The head hits the floor again.

 

“Hercules we need to do something! This man could hurt the bambina and her baby!”

“I can drag the guy out back to the shop and we can take care of him there.”

The ringing stops.

 

“Yes, we can take him there and then call the cops! No need to involve Bambina! Let’s call some of the boys from the shop-”

 

Flashing lights and loud sirens are going off outside the apartment complex and a thunderclap of feet are ascending the stairway. Hercules instantly grabs the baseball bat and Helena is bodily dragging you into another room with Mr. Frodo following close behind as the officers barge in without a howdy do.

 

If the other tenants were asleep or hard of hearing then they were awake now.

And very pissed if their foreign profanities are anything to go by.

 

“SCOTLAND YARD! PUT YOUR HANDS UP IN THE AIR!”

 

The armed officers rush Hercules and throw him to the ground while three others go to the body on the floor.

“He’s still breathing!”

“Get the paramedics up here!”

 

The command is quickly relayed from one radio to another as they trash your place.

“I found the phone!”

“Keep looking!”

 

Another officer kicks open the door you, Mr. Frodo, and Helena are hiding behind, “We got more suspects in here!”

“Take them to the yard for questioning!”

 

Instantly Helena is up in arms and is fighting the entire way while you have a death grip on your furry ball of anger.

You let them take you because you honestly had enough for one day.

At least you’ll have some peace in the backseat of police vehicle.


	13. The Chat or it sucks to have meddling little brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its no fun when the tables are turned.

For once in long time the call came at the most opportune time.

 

This involved all and any times that Sherlock’s helped in any of his work or the year when Sherlock was seven and the unfortunate fate of the gardener’s cat during Mummy’s annual Easter luncheon.

As ghastly as the experiment had been it did gift Mycroft with a viable excuse to leave the function and some of his unsavory family members (Cousin Reginald was never a favorite and neither was great aunt Augusta) behind for more enjoyable pursuits with Sherlock.

 

Indcluding Mycroft’s formative years (turbulent and tedious times to say the least) to the (still disorderly and wearisome) now.

With all of his most urgent business taken care of ( the president of Ukraine was easy enough to tend to without the use of strong spirits or sugary confections _this_ time), Athena attending some details on next week’s agenda, and all other projects that could be deemed mediocre enough for his staff to handle Mycroft literally had time to kill.

 

The happy occurrence supplied Mycroft with the luxury of bathing in his own home and eating at his leisure without adhering to a strict schedule of appearances until the call came.

When his surveillance and retraction team traced Sherlock’s signature to a low income apartment complex, nose broken, slightly concussed, fractured ribs, and a broken left wrist; Mycroft felt a bit vindicated.

 

As brilliant mind such as Sherlock’s could and would wander into new mysteries or puzzles it he was still annoying when he stuck his nose into other people’s business.

After all that was _his_ job.

Not Sherlock’s.

 

However, the report also stated that they had found a Miss _____,_____ a pregnant young female brandishing a small house cat amongst the two others found around his brother’s uncurious form and was currently being bused to the nearest containment facility for his judgment, Mycroft felt a burden being thrown off his already heavy shoulders.

 

Apparently from the group the older gentleman and woman were stuck in one police car due to their criminal records while the latter was placed in a separate one.

A car was signaled by his mark and Mycroft made his way down.

 

Immediately catching Athena’s attentions on the way out she efficiently redirected the car containing the younger woman towards the hospital where Sherlock was currently residing. From there she would be placed in a private room, where vetted professionals (to cut any chances of more data leaks) could look over the data in a secure location.

And if this made it easier for Mycroft to attend both his brother and the baby no one was stupid enough to try and make waves.

 

He would check up on Sherlock and ensure that he’s receiving optimal care (and that John Watson was in the immediate area thus chaos would be at a minimal) before submitting to what Mycroft was sure to be a long painful conversation with a less than accommodating goldfish.

 

Mycroft knew that the situation was delicate at best and at its worst a ticking time bomb just waiting to destroy his career accompanied by his reputation. This is why he picked the Swedish supermodel, not only for her genetics or her intelligence but for business opportunities that came saddled with it.

 

She would have had opened a new tier in her career to introduce her line of maternity wear thereby boosting her press while endearing herself to the public. Their marriage would be a professional one found on paper, meeting for the press and living in separate abodes.

 

Their child would be shared between them for PR but the offspring would indefinitely be in Mycroft’s care due to his high-profile career as the super model explicitly stated she wanted no part of motherhood.

Her job too _demanding_ , too fast-paced and exciting to forgo for a sack of _crying_ skin.

 

Which was fine by Mycroft, he was confident that he aided by his staff could raise what was sure to be an intelligent prodigy in a safe and nurturing environment.

But those aspirations were naught as his child was not in the Swedish model.

 

As the car pulled to the front of the hospital Mycroft grabbed his back up brolly headed to Sherlock’s room.

Entering the elevator Mycroft checked his phone for more files on the others found in the apartment room. The doctors should have reset his nose by now and the medication taking its magic weave.

 

But upon hearing the commotion outside of his brother’s designated room and the furious nurse holding his clipboard in a death grip as his feet slapped the hospital floor it was clear that neither Watson or the drugs had taken their hold.

How _lovely._

 

"Go **away** Mycroft."

His voice had taken on a comical tone as his nose was patched up.

Sometimes Mycroft wished for stronger non-habit forming drugs for moments like these.

Or a camera.

Why didn’t private rooms have cameras installed again?

 

"It’s good to see you as well, brother mine," Mycroft greets Sherlock pouting in the hospital bed much like he used to during his formative years.

"It would be better if the drugs were stronger."

 

"I see John is on his way, I wonder just how upset he’ll be considering this is the third time in a month that you’ve taken residence here."

"I see that you’ve lost some more of your already depleting hair line, you should just shave it and be done with it."

" I’m surprised John hasn’t kicked you out for that cow eye experiment that you plastered on the kitchen ceiling."

"I bet you’re wondering why you haven’t heard from your team on the girl’s location."

 

That was a good volley, he should have had an update by now.

Looking down at his cell phone it was strangely silent.

 

" It’s too late she’s not even with your people anymore but tell me brother dear why the interest in the pregnant child? The case that was given to me by your minions was interesting enough but I don’t see why you’ve found this in need of my immediate attention."

 

"She’s not a child Sherlock, her files indicate that she’s well above the consenting age to be considered an adult."

"But young enough to be your daughter as well, tell me why the sudden concern? She certainly doesn’t hold any political aspirations or connections to warrant it. No don’t tell me."

Even with the drugs slowly crawling through his brother’s IV his mind was still functioning on all cylinders.

 

"No, you _didn’t."_

"Sherlock."

"You’re too lazy to go through with it."

" **Sherlock**."

 

"Dear GOD, why would _you_ choose to reproduce? Do you have any idea how hideous the child will be? Another peon to be filed along with the masses drones plaguing the planet! It shall be born with a suit on its back and dullard implanted in its cranium!"

 

"That is no way to talk about your future niece or nephew Sherlock!"

"You **did**. Oh this is most unpleasant! Why would you do such a thing?"

"Sherlock if you would stop acting like a child I can explain, Mummy came to me and was possessed with the need for a grandchild."

 

" _Please_ as if that anything new, it’s like a tradition to listen to that woman blather on about family matters. Just give Mummy a puppy and be done with it. Why should you have been concerned about it now?"

 

"Mummy gave me an ultimatum, either supply her with a biological grandchild or we would both suffer the sting."

 

At this Sherlock shifts into an unflattering position and making a rude noise, "She has no power here, you _are_ the British government. What sway could she possibly hold over us?"

Mycroft leveled a knowing look towards him.

 

"No."

"Yes."

"She wouldn’t."

"You and I both know she can and will if driven to a breaking point."

"She _can’t_!

"I assure you that since Mummy is still breathing is in fact can."

 

Now Sherlock is struggling to boost himself into a sitting position a hint that the drugs were now starting their reign as Sherlock’s usual guarded sneer is replaced with a condescending smirk.

Mycroft didn’t like that smirk, Mycroft _owned_ that smirk.

It was part of his job description.

 

"Then you are in for an uncomfortable ride which I know your pompous ass won’t enjoy. The girl’s name is ____, _____ age twenty-four, current college junior, wanted to go for multimedia and graphic design but she’s the oldest of three, both siblings being male. A parent pleaser such as yourself trying to prove to her metal to her parents; obvious her parents favor the younger brother with his intelligence even though he fails to apply himself like his sister. She went for a medical track which she knows she’s rubbish at, will fail if she doesn’t at least grab a B on finals for all her classes."

 

Sherlock’s grasping for straws as Mycroft can see him fighting the drug’s grasp, "___ won’t roll over and give you the child due to her inability to form a lasting romantic relationships due to her ridiculous plan to keep herself a virgin. Why? She fears intimacy in favor of a whimsical romantic sense of it as evidenced with all the Disney paraphernalia and romantic drivel lining her home. She’s saving herself for a prince, you’re in luck, and she considers this to be granted with age and experience, so she’ll at least look at you twice without vomiting."

At this even Sherlock looks a bit green himself but presses on like the trooper he is.

"___ considers herself very much an adult by surrounding herself with older people even though she immerses herself in childhood evidenced with the stuffed animals stashed in her bed. ___ tells herself that it’s to prepare for sharing a bed with a future partner but in reality she misses the company she had as a child in the early stages in her life."

 

Sherlock is shifting again and squinting against what he must register as ‘bright’ lights and his hospital gown is starting to ride up.

 

"With her mind set this will be her first and only child she’ll ever have; taking her baby to be monitored in a house full of nannies will only incite her anger. She’d sooner run you out of the country being a family oriented woman. She’s dealt with babies before being the oldest and having a four-teen year gap between herself and the youngest. Most likely her parents demanded that she ‘step up’ her big sister duties when they just didn’t want to admit that they were done with child rearing. She’s confident in her ability to care for the baby even if lacks the money to do so."

Sherlock’s really reaching here as his eyelids droop.

 

"Money or power’s not going to scare ___ off either, she has a _spine_ Mycroft. She’ll fight you tooth and nail for this baby. You’re going to have to compromise with her and actually deal with her on a personal level if you want to have any sort of kinship with the baby. My god that’s _hilarious_. You having baby with this child! It’s so…ha…"

 

And with one last twitch from his good hand before settling on the hospital bed as John swung in, "What’s all this about a baby?"

Mycroft’s phone ‘ping’s with a new message.

That would be my cue to leave…

 

"Dr. Watson how nice of you to show up, I trust you can tend to my brother when the orderlies release him or he escapes."

 

John rubs his neck as he looks fondly at Sherlock’s sleeping, "Well, yeah. I do that any way whether Sherlock likes it or not."

 

Making a casual B-line for the door Mycroft before John stops him, "So you’re not going tell me about the deal about you and a baby?"

Mycroft’s phone pings again and he checks the device.

 

"Dr. Watson what my brother babbles about under the influence is hardly worth pondering about but if you’ll excuse me I have an appointment to attend to. Please my regards to Sherlock when he wakes up."

 

John doesn’t look convinced but Mycroft has no time to play niceties even with his brother’s army doctor. If anything John will forget the conversation as will Sherlock when wakes up but it matters not.

 

Right now Mycroft must face the beast himself.

A fairy tale indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey anybody know where a gal can find a decent cup of joe in down town New York?


	14. The Dinner or it sucks to be in a horror movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm gald I'm not you

The only good thing to come from all this nonsense is that for once, you’re well rested.

Sitting up from the canopy bed you’re greeted with a large fire place burning in the far left corner of the room and the thunder washing over you in short intervals.

_How lovely…_

Entering the police car armed with your furry feline at your side you expected a certain chain of events to happen.

 

After being carted off to Scotland Yard you awaited the usual verbal lashing of who, what, why, and how you beat the intruder in your home. Hopefully since this is your first offense and your condition they’d let you off with a small fine or at least not call your parents.

 

I mean they shouldn’t right? You’re like way over the age of adolescence, involving your parental units would be stupid and an unfortunate use of spent time.

_Right?_

 

Expecting to get any response on the intruder found in your abode were nil at best if they arrested you instead of the guy on the floor, injuries or not, he’s still in the wrong for trespassing.

You don’t care what excuse they try to pin on it, that crook had NO business there and he’s damned lucky you weren’t close enough to the vegetable knife hidden under the middle sofa cushion.

 

From that point you were looking forward to be released in time with your statements accompanied by Helena and Hercules (god willing if those dunderheads at the yard try to detain them there overnight) to go back home in time for your favorite program.

 

It was silly even, the program, something you vaguely recall watching as a kid that just happened to air that day.

 

With all the uncertainty in your life, college midterm exams, your parents, work, Ricardo, this baby, babysitters for this child, rent, and money you just wanted to day to relax as well as forget the world. Because let’s face it, at the end of the year you’re going to have so many problems.

Clean yourself from the shackles that bind you to stress and displeasure and just be ___.

Discount the mountain of trouble down your path and just _breathe._

 

It would have been the prefect way to end the day before your twelve hour shift at work the next day.

The forecast for tomorrow called for a lot of call ins and a population of you to handle the masses.

 

However, like many things in your career that you call life such as becoming a princess/doctor/spaceman/jungle cat/movie star that wasn’t meant to be.

Stepping into the police authorized automobile you wait for the officers to toss frightened Mr. Frodo beside your form before letting your head hit the door for a light nap.

 

Scotland Yard was a good 20 blocks away and considering the traffic at this time of day it would be a long ride downtown. Next to you Mr. Frodo fidgeted and yowled his displeasure of begin trapped in a metal box of death, crying at your ear left exposed.

 

That cat _hated_ cars since you found him on that cold rainy afternoon in south London in November by the busy street corner.

Some asshole thought it would be a great idea to leave the poor thing up for adoption by the side of the road without any nibbles or water.

The kitten was shaking with both coldness and fear as the loud cars zipped by.

 

It turns out not even years of love and care can get rid of psychological damage at such an early age.

Maybe you should get Mr. Frodo to a physiatrist.

 

Had you not been handcuffed you might have soothed him but no matter how you pleaded the case they fell on deaf ears; alas now you and the cops had to listen to the feline’s whines.

 _Great…now we’ll all suffer,_ you thought miserably as Mr. Frodo paced nervously on the backseat floor broad.

 

Somewhere between block ten you were slowly drifting towards a (desperately needed) light slumber a loud bussing noise disrupts it.

Whipping your head up with all traces of sleep leaving you from the door frame to see the police man riding shotgun in slumped against the dashboard and Mr. Frodo’s in defense mode on the backseat hissing and spitting up a germaphobe’s nightmare in the backseat.

 

Cautiously peering towards the glass window that separates you from the flatfoots you ask, “Hey what’s going on up there?”

In retrospect that was probably a really stupid question to ask, since when do you ever get answers lately? All this espionage crap and mystery shit; you’re lucky if you even get a name with a face nowadays.

 

Once more you are ignored even as you tap the window with your forehead but as you’re fixing to start hitting harder you hear the swooshing of colorless gas start ghosting to your face under the window pane.

 

Immediately you rush backwards to the seat trying to get to preserve what little uncontaminated air was left in the vehicle but you can only move so far while contained.

_Damned handcuffs._

Franticly you try to open the door while tied or at least open the window but it’s no use as both are locked up tight.

 

The only thing that kept you on the edge of consciousness was Frodo’s frantic angry swipes at an unknown assailant before losing sight of the real world.

Which brings you to the present…wherever here was…wait what time is it?

 

Rousing from the dark blue silk sheets you regard your attire, what once was your most comfy V-neck shirt and dark washed jeans and transformed into a soft nightgown made of white silk with scattered pink posies as a print.

 

Sniffing the air you find no musk to indicate that the room was unkept like at the elder neighbors at the apartment complex and surely your kidnappers wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave you alone when there’s a huge fire blazing.

I mean sure, there’s like a good several feet between the fireplace and the carpet with the stone but still its poor judgment when you’re unconscious.

 

Examining the chamber you find that its furnished with the dark wood canopy bed you’re currently occupying, the stone fireplace large enough to burn a human body, a birch wood bookcase filled with tomes and bust of what could be famous thinkers, the matching dark wood furniture pieces furnished with nothing but the basics, the large woven tapestry featuring a serve looking woman with a sword in hand, a door across from it to what you assume is a bathroom, but that’s not what creeps you out the most.

 

No, what gets you is the ornate crib sitting in the corner, decorated and waiting ominously for an arrival to make its presence known.

If that doesn’t spell hazardous then nothing did.

 

Suddenly every horror movie you’ve ever watched is coming back in full force to make you quake.

You got to get out of here, anyone that’s after you or your baby is no good at all.

This is too upper class for something Ricardo’s alley even with his so called ‘connections’ but this…this is a whole another level.

Even if they’re not out to kill you this is too much.

 

Intruders, kidnappings, and underling plots to keep you here indefinitely are your stopping point thank you.

You’re _pregnant_ god dammit!

You don’t have time for this shit you have work in the morning and you need the hours.

Those diapers aren’t going to buy themselves you know and trying to make rent on top of that along with feeding yourself, well, you’re broke.

 

_Calm down…stress is bad for the baby._

 

Carefully detaching yourself from the sheets you shuffle as quietly as you can muster towards the curtained window behind the mattress, upon shifting the drapery away you find a horror story in the making.

 

The thunder storm is painting the ground below in the most evil way with the lighting causing what might have been a cute horse topiary to look like a creature from the late night TV Halloween marathon.

_Stop freaking out…breathe._

 

From what you can tell the room is located on the second floor, and from what you can see there’s not another house for miles.

No dotted line of lights in the horizon or shapes of houses, just a never ending stretch of land being pummeled by the raging thunderstorm passing through at an alarmingly slow pace.

_Just what I need a creepy old house during a thunderstorm._

 

In fact if it weren’t for the splashes of light coating the area you’d swear this was actually a house surrounded by a dark sea.

_Stay calm…they obliviously don’t want to kill you. Just find a way out. There has to be a phone around here somewhere…or maybe a car **. Crap**. I don’t know how to hotwire a car._

Glancing around for an escape route your bladder decides to make itself known.

 

_Not now!_

But it looks like you’ll indeed need to use the bathroom or you’ll end up wetting yourself.

Rushing to the adjoining room you pray it’s a bathroom and look at that, it is one! Relieving yourself as soundlessly as possible but now comes the great question, to flush or not to flush.

If your parents taught you anything (that bit with the cheerleading and reconstructing a toaster seem rather irrelevant in any condition) it was proper manners.

 

You could use your good manners and flush the toilet but in a home like this it would be like sending movement down a spider’s web. Your captors would know you were up and about and you desperately need the element of surprise.

Or you could ignore your good sense of right and wrong and just leave it there without flushing.

Decisions, decisions, decisions…

 

In the end you choose stealth over manner, all that never smile at a crocodile and all that jazz. Besides if you’re confused and pregnant as far as you’re concerned manners are for people that don’t kidnap you.

 

 _Onto the next order of business_ , you mentally berate as you search the room for anything that can be used as a weapon or a means to an end. So far the only item you’ve deemed worthy is the fireplace poker made of iron and the thick goldenrod rope tie from the curtain.

If you ignore the abundance of baby related wear stuffed in the dresser drawers because it continued to instill fear, no one’s going to know.

 

 _Good enough_ you think as you start tomaking a path to the entrance.

 

Saddling up your defenses you realize that you’re missing something. Under normal circumstances Mr. Frodo would crying under the duvet snuggling against you like the sacredly cat he is.

Gently bending down you search under the furniture for any sign of your furry baby but he’s not here.

 

Now you may be slowly submitting to the hormones that accompany pregnancy but logic dictates that if your captors didn’t harm you then they probably didn’t do anything horrible to a poor little kitty.

 

After all you’re alive, why would they need to harm what is obviously a well-loved pet to you.

Surely they want you alive and in a positive state of mind which can only be achieved by having your cat live.

Right?

**Right?**

 

You promise darkly that if anyone lays a damaging hand on your cat there will be hell to pay with or without your baseball bat.

Where was that bat anyway?

Oh…right. Hercules has it still.

_Great…_

 

Armed and ready you sneak towards the entrance into the hallway, and are we really going with the scary movie theme aren’t we?

The hallway is lined with antique paintings that look menacing and mirrors…why the hell are there so many mirrors?

 

Creeping down the darken hallway only lit by random lightning flashes all that comes to mind is the Lady in Black causing you to periodically flinch and turn every couple of steps.

_I swear I’ll never watch another horror movie as long as I live when I make it out of here._

 

Because there is no ‘if’ you WILL make it out of here alive, you’re ____, ____! You will survive! You will-OH DEAR GOD!

 

A burst of thunder louder than the rest interrupts your thoughts and nearly knocks over a vase.

Like a bloated boss you catch it but you need to keep focused. You can’t keep jumping whenever you think you see a figure in one of the many mirrors decorating the wall.

Or the shadows.

Or those small noises that sound seriously like feet.

Or heavy breathing.

 

….

Okay you need to stop this train of thought before you start to hyperventilate.

 

Moving faster to the hall’s end you find the staircase, there’s a little sliver of light at the bottom.

Carefully treading down the steps you take great pains to remain silent, you know that the stairs are wooden too much weight on one will rat you out.

And let’s face it, you’re just shy over a week passed the three month mark, you have gained a small baby bump. You’d be worried if you didn’t.

It takes a while but you finally manage to make it downstairs where its furnished the same as the room you woke up in, money and elegance.

But still no phone.

 

At least there’s no more creepy paintings or statues.

 

Glancing around quickly you find no sign of life or any light at all.

The house is so huge you haven’t even came across a door leading outwards yet or the front door which is ridiculous there has to be an exit somewhere.

Clicking your tongue in each direction hoping to draw Mr. Frodo out and listen.

 

Hearing nothing but continue to shuffle about aimlessly behind various pieces of furniture until you come across a shut door with light spilling underneath it, they could be behind that door.

There's a faint familiar pitter patter of furry paws behind the wood.

Snapping your tongue again, this time you’re answered by a resounding cry.

 

This is probably a trap, there’s no logical explanation for Mr. Frodo to be in the only room that’s on. However you can’t leave Frodo here with questionable humans, cracking the door open you watch and listen for others.

 

A disconcerting eye moment later you figure no one human is in the room and if there was someone in the room they would have been notified by the way Frodo is scratching up the door to get to you.

 

Swinging the door open you are plowed into by your furry friend dropping the fire poker to the tile floor and the rope tangled in Frodo’s frantic paws. Between cuddling and comforting you find yourself in the kitchen, a wonderland of weapons and devices for escaping.

 

Keeping Mr. Frodo at arms-length you quickly (and quietly!) search for anything more substantial than your flimsy fire poker and rope. Frodo being the needy sponge he is rubbing all over you as you dig through the drawers.

 

So far the haul is a set of fancy dinnerware, vegetable knife, and craving knife but still not what you wanted.

_Where is it?_

Seriously with all this finery there has to be a butcher knife somewhere, how else would they have their fancy meals? Securing that puppy would definitely ensure your safety and aid you in escaping.

 It isn’t until you notice that you haven’t had to push Mr. Frodo from your shoulder that something is up.

And god you really wish you hadn’t looked up.

 

This woman is the personification of every evil horror movie that graced the silver screen only prettier and armed only with Mr. Frodo doing his damnest to wiggle free. Grabbing the cooking utensil you discarded earlier and brandish it in her direction.

 

The woman in question merely smirks, “Do you really think that’s a wise decision my dear?”

 

As terrifying as the older lady is you will not be cowed, you have a knife and a fire poker!

There’s a sudden flash of metal in your face and you realize it’s the butcher knife in front of your face along with a firm hand on your left shoulder. Looking back it’s a large bulky Asian man in a chef’s uniform and he does not look friendly…or that could be his natural face.

 

Not that was important right now because the way the lady’s holding Mr. Frodo is not natural and its making your blood pressure rise to new levels.

“Leave Frodo alone!” you demand as you still try to move forward ignoring the deadly cutlery near your person and the tightening grip biting into your skin.

 

The woman doesn’t even make an effort to appear threatened, “Lee please bring our guest to the dining room and be sure to have the staff bring out dinner promptly. I am positively famished from waiting for her to awaken.”

Just as you figured, it was a trap.

 

Being herded into the next room through a series of pathways to the dining room which like the rest of the home is expensive and elaborate. Dark wood table dressed in linen and finery, candles lit on candelabras, with your captor at the head of the table with the only other plate set at her right.

 

And she’s grinning like a vampire with a virgin sacrifice still holding your cat hostage.

Which you are, I mean, you still haven’t had sexual relations yet so the label isn’t wrong.

Look, technically it fits, don’t question it.

 

Gingerly you sit down on the plush seat and immediately try to scoot away only to have a blank looking servant swiftly pushing it back.

 

“Now Austin, be gentle, our guest is expecting,” she tuts as more unassuming servants start to fish out the food and turns to you, “I do hope you find the variety to be to your liking ___.”

You’re not even going to question how she knows your name as piles of iron rich foods coupled with a healthy dressing of spices is placed before you.

 

All you’re watching is how the lady places your cat into a steel cage opposite of you at the table, not even the smell of food is calming him.

You hope that Frodo pisses on the tablecloth.

 

“My dear, please dig in. The cooks spent all day creating this feast for the both of you.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I was brought here against my will then huh?”

She titters a bit at the comment but doesn’t deny it.

 

She’s may be eating but the woman’s staring you down, if you don’t eat you have a feeling that she’ll force feed you. And you don’t put it past her to do it, she’s already kidnapped you.

Dipping into what could be mashed potatoes and spinach coupled with some type of beef (god _please_ let it be beef) you keep a constant vigil on the keeper for any opening to grab Frodo and running for the nearest window.

 

 At this rate you don’t care if you’re barefoot and in a thin nightie you’ll run in a thunder storm if it means you can get out of here.

There’s a momentary silence as you both chew and you’re trying to piece together what this lady could want. If you’re guts right she’s after your baby.

If that’s not the case then well…that’s even worse.

 

“So do I even get to know why I’ve been taken or a name? It’s very rude not to introduce yourself.”

She stops in mid bite to regard you as you attempt to look intimidating.

“My sweet little dot, do you honestly believe I can be hoodwinked into revealing my plans? How droll. But you’re right on one front, it is rude to leave a family member wanting, you may call me Mummy.”

_Like hell I will._

 

“What’s your last name then?”

The reaction is instant as servants are now surrounding you.

“I’m sorry what was that dear?”

“I **said** what’s your last name?”

 

The space around you is closing as the servants are moved closer.

Panic is starting to set in and you really need to keep from passing out, “ _Mummy_ what’s your last name?”

 

Feigning alertness Mummy turns to you, “ _Sweetheart_ you should have asked earlier! My surname is Mummy Holmes, but I’ll be sure to share my full name after my sweet little grandchild is born.”

 

Using an unused fork she points in your direction, “And you haven’t been taking care of your little one as well as you should. My home doctor tells me you’re under weight, surely my staff can take care of that problem in a few weeks-time.”

 

And that folks is your cue for to make a dramatic escape if this crazy lady thinks she’s going **anywhere** near your baby.

Then the bit about keeping you further is the final nail in the coffin.

 

Now the dinner plates are removed from the table and a fancily desert takes its place, suddenly any urge to eat is gone as Mummy is eyeing your belly unashamedly.

At any moment you’re going to grab the tablecloth and drag it to snatch Mr. Frodo while using a spoon to defend yourself when a sound of heavy footsteps are echoing closer to the dining room.

 

It sets everyone still as a tall figure approaches the room.

He’s tall and decked in a fine suit armed with a soaking brolly.

You would have made a break for it if the servants didn’t block all viable paths and your curious nature.

 

“Mycroft, why is it that I can only find you present when desert is presented?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously we need to use the tag Mycroft is harassed, there's not a story so far where he's not.


	15. The Ride or it sucks to have living relatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what I mean!  
> You get those people you really don't like but you have to be nice because you share blood.  
> And you think, if you weren't related I'd kill you.

Upon entering his ancestral home winded from his strides and throbbing cortex Mycroft’s discomposure was well garnered as he was presented with both his mother and the agitated young expectant woman making feeble plans to escape.

Lesser mortals over the years both prince and pauper have yet to evade Mummy Holmes or Holmes Manor with any success.

The only exception to the mark would include only himself and Sherlock but only for short periods of time before they were forcibly summoned to its darkened doorstep by what have been deemed inexcusable milestones.

Pleasantries such as Mummy’s birthday or any of her annual gatherings which Sherlock would often place himself in a hospital to avoid and Mycroft would willingly do legwork in another country to miss.

Mummy is painted with both pique and hauteur as she greets him, “Mycroft, why is it that I can only find you present when desert is presented?”

The mere knowledge that Mummy used an adjective and that it occurred again in the same sentence spoke volumes since as a Holmes it was not in their natures to be redundant with words or actions.

“It’s merely a common coincidence I assure you.”

Mummy leveled Mycroft a grim smile and continued to put more distance between __ and her cat.

“There is nothing common in this plane of existence when it associates with a Holmes.”

The agreement could be felt emitted from all parties in the room, staff and captive included.

However now was not the time for formalities, there were other lives near the fatality point considering the visage on ___. Her bid on edging closer to the caged feline was amateur at best along with her mode of liberation, why she believed running out the nearest rose tinted  widow and into the thundering night realm was beyond him.

It was such a dreadful evening to begin with the rainstorm battling outside, it even made the ride to Holmes Manor 35 minutes longer than it should have. Facing adversity like that whilst barely clothed under these circumstances, it would be insane.

Mycroft’s attention is suddenly struck by Mummy crowded __ away from her query and gently forcing her to sit in the closet sit with a sugary monstrosity set before her by the staff.

Already Mycroft could see Mummy paint out her own canvas on what this grandchild would endure; the clothing, schooling, mannerisms, marriage prospects, and what instrument they would take.

And wasn’t even including Mummy’s designs for ___, those ideals shoved upon someone not accustomed to abiding by higher social norms had a high percentage of future attempted assault provided that Mummy didn’t simply spirit the child away from birth.

Not that Mummy would be cruel enough to separate a mother from her child but Mummy’s sanity has taken leave in want of a grandchild as of late.

Even great (however strained and warped they may be) minds like Sherlock and himself aren’t able to keep six steps ahead of her, especially when Mummy’s professed a need for something dire.

…

On second thought ____’s plan of escape that wasn’t as insane as previously suspected, had Mycroft not brought forth in this realm by Mummy he too would be running for the safety of the hills.

Surely it would be best to escape towards a different country altogether, however, finding a nation that would not bow to Mummy’s all-encompassing reach would be vexing.

Especially for someone in such common standing and insufficient funds.

“Duly noted,” Mycroft countered.

“As it should be,” Mummy agreed before making a sweeping motion towards the sugary spread, “Please have a seat. I believe the three of us  have much to discuss don’t you agree?”

Silently the servants are trying to bully the poor girl into a chair while Mycroft, stills stands at the end of the long banquet table as a spectator. ___ is certainly putting up a good fight but not even with the protein recently ingested can’t aide her in fending off the nameless faces of the staff.

The amount of outside stress pressing down on ___ surely could not be conducive to keeping a level head in the wake of hormones.

It was something akin to observing a bomb preparing to explode with __ face still searching even as several confectionaries were seated before her.

Immediately __ snubs the first four until he starts to nibble on a marble cheesecake slice topped with cream and a cherry.

_Odd, she doesn’t seem to favor coffee flavored treats…_

Mycroft stepped around the dining room table and silently forced the help to recede from __’s general area, “Not that I doubt that ___ enjoyed her small repast but I believe it is time for us to take our leave Mummy.”

Mummy monetarily stops tucking into her Tiramisu to arch an incredulous eyebrow at her oldest, “Mycroft, the only thing that will be most likely to departing from my home is you. I believe you have that criminal micro nation to help manage?”

“Australia is hardly a prison nation anymore and due these unforeseen developments  I have sent Athena in my stead.”

“Then what a happy turn of events then.”

“It would appear so.”

Now Mummy Holmes has polished off her plate and is sizing up the young woman to her left, “Besides, it is far too dangerous outside for travel, my sources say that the storm will be covering the area for the remainder of the night. I insist that you both stay here for the night. I’ll have the staff draw up your old room and we’ll all be able to have an informative discussion in the morning.”

“Somehow I feel that __ would rather relocate before handling such matters,” Mycroft said he made way towards Mummy, “Perhaps I could take her away and we could continue at a more neutral location.”

Now Mummy stands from her seat to promenade towards her oldest, “Considering both her age and experience I feel that she should stay here where she can be better cared for.”

Mycroft stands before his creator, “You wound me, to think I could not accomplish the same means to this this end as well.”

Mummy maybe towered by her child but to assume that she cowered in his shadow, would be a grave misunderstanding.

A very grim indeed.

Poised for the kill Mummy is close enough to make all little hairs on Mycroft’s neck to stand at attention, “It is only based on past data that allows me to make an educated guess into how you would handle something of this nature. After all political parties are vastly different from familial ones.”

She runs her finely manicured nail up to her offspring’s chin, “ I know your plans dear son and even I must admit with the good doctor that they are not up to par. If any grandchild of mine is to be brought into this world, I shall-”

“Excuse me but it looks like you all forgot something,” ____ nearly shout above the others hands now filled with a semi-agitated Mr. Frodo spitting metaphorical flames of fury towards Ms. Holmes and a sharp piece of cutlery brandished as a sword.

Not that really mattered at this point, you were so tired of this riddle like shit, “This is MY baby, and regardless if you’re the father or not I have certain rights that can and will be adhered to.”

Turning to Ms. Holmes she point the knife at her face, “ First off, I’m not staying here: you kidnapped me and drugged me as far as I’m concerned you’re the last person I want to spend time with and that’s an amazing feat; there’s plenty of people I’d love to crave up but you’ve shot to the top. I do have a family, they will notice I’m gone and I doubt your bank account will be able to cover up that.”

Ms. Holmes looks amused as you glare, “ Oh sweetie, I have enough to bury both you and your family.”

She  ignores this for the betterment of your escape, and direct the knife at the him, “Mycroft right?”

___ doesn’t even give him the time to react, “You, I really don’t know you but I’m sure as hell not staying here so I’ll let you take me back to my apartment where I’ll be more than happen to talk within 3 days. I swear if you try anything…”

The look on ___’s face must have been something fierce, in fact, it dimly mirrored Mummy’s face when she found out who really destroyed her best evening dress before the Christmas party.

 _It appears she’s at the end of her rope,_  Mycroft noted, even the staff gave the woman a wide berth regardless if the cutlery was dull.

Even now some of the mirth that Ms. Holmes had earlier is slowly ebbing away to reveal a concerned expression as ___ edged closer to the rooms’ entrance.

Mycroft’s hand flies up to defend, “ But of course, however, as much as I hate repetition , Mummy is correct, the hour is growing late and the storm is still upon us.”

The intensity in those eyes were heightened and __’s body posture could have been mistaken as a replica of the feline in her hands.

You level him your best stares, “I want to go _home._ Not this home, not your home, but MY home. Don’t think I won’t carjack you to get there either.”

Already you can sense disbelief as you gesture with the utensil for Mycroft to come forward.

Let the fools doubt you, if they want to underestimate a pregnant woman it’ll be their folly and your gain.

Mycroft obviously understood this as he left his mother’s side easily to come to you.

“I fully understand __, now, shall we be off?”

“Yes, now let’s move. I have work in the morning,” you state as you follow Mycroft through the hallway mazes.

“I believe you  had work tomorrow, thankfully your boss was gracious enough to find another coworker to take your shift for the rest of the week with pay.”

It’s no secret that your boss is a both a stickler and a hard ass; the man tried to  fired your coworker Natalee because she missed work from being in a 6 car pileup in down town. The only reason he couldn’t was because of her amazing lawyer and the workers union.

If Mycroft was capable of making him roll over, it was a testament to his power.

God…you were going to end in a ditch when this was all said and done.

Best not to think too hard on it right now, you know it’ll do no good; just let the guy drop you off and you can reflect later on how the hell this is your life.

So you follow Mycroft still armed until you finally, FINALLY reach the front door of this nut house, scary weather aside it looks like the best thing you’ve seen in the few hours of alertness.

It barely registers that you’re not wearing shoes as you start to walk out to where the car’s arriving from the ridiculously long drive way from the mansion’s shelter until you’re halted by Mycroft’s arm, “The car will come to us, please give it a moment.”

Looking down at __ from the corner of his eye Mycroft can see her tracking the car as if it would vanish forcing her to stay at his Mother’s.

The wind is harsh as it spits upon his suit and ___ but she stands like a pillar refusing to bend in hopes of departing.

When the vehicle comes to a complete stop before them ___ doesn’t even  wait for it to be opened by the help, she grabbed the handle and all but threw herself in. The feline in hand transformed into a feline in lap while Mycroft seated himself within.

Not even a fourth of the way out of the driveway and the questions are aired, “So what’s the probability of you being the father?”

____ isn’t even looking at him when she asks but the knife is currently sitting beside her instead of resting in her grip and the cat is at peace to watch him.

Mycroft counts this as a plus,“ A hundred percent.”

Relief, happiness, fear, and sadness flash as quickly as the lighting striking the ground miles around them.

 Finally ___ just thumps her head on the car’s glass and lets out a sigh,“ Is it bad that I’m torn between boundless joy for actually finding you and screaming bloody murder because it means that woman is my kid’s grandmother?”

“I would concur that you would be entitled to such an act but I promise you, Mummy is merely protective of her family, that’s all.”

“So it’s all fine if she drugs the mother of her grandbaby?”

Suddenly ___ has the silverware in hand again and the animal reading the mood is starting to make a low yowling noise in defense.

_Best to lower the hostility levels  so as not to sour future relations._

They’re only a few feet from leaving the estate and Mummy’s security  cameras are still watching, if he can keep __ awake long enough before exiting everything would be golden.

Mummy’s stunt using her task force was almost enough to sever any chance of a normal relationship and this had evolved into something more complex.

“We Holmes’ are…eccentric people, but you have my word that in all likelihood this will be the last time you’ll suffer a drug induced sleep.”

____ doesn’t look convinced but the moment that her head passed through the gate Mycroft let out his own sigh of relief.

_Now Mummy can’t snatch her away…_

He relaxes in his seat as ___ starts to slowly exhales and stares into the dark landscape passing by, the knife is momentarily forgotten as she scratches the furry creatures’ neck.

The purring must have calmed her enough to face Mycroft fully, not with malice, but with some semblance of trust, “It damn well better, If I get drugged one more time I swear, I’m heading on the first plane to America. The hell if I’m going to stay here where I’m-where I’m…”

___is now fighting to stay awake as she points accusingly at the man across from her, soundlessly she mouths out her anger before slumping onto the cushioned seat.

Mycroft sets upon getting ___ comfortable while his phone starts to buzz, but it is ignored in favor of clearing __’s airway so she my sleep soundly.

The beast that ___ calls a cat is making it difficult as it senses its master’s mental absence and has made a great effort to thwart any attempts to help her up.

Several tics and a quick pit stop later the beast is subdued by a fellow underling riding shot gun, Mycroft was able to help ___ into a sleepers’ position before sitting beside her form so as not to fall forward.

Not even the thunder from the sky he could still hear the cat screeching.

Fishing his cell phone from his breast pocket Mycroft finds the following text:

**I see that sleep agent finally kicked, though I am a tad disappointed that it took that long to react.**

**I don’t need to explain the importance of not losing sight of her do** **I?**

Not for the first time  but for a great period since then, did Mycroft sit back and think, how is this my life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So does anyone know how to do pictures of here?


	16. The Morning or it sucks not having a goldfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long.  
> You know how college is.  
> EVIL.  
> So here you go, enjoy!

A tea party by the sea and surrounded by dancing fish while a man in a yellow track suit singing something about sports balls…

And something about a lobster with an accent…

Why are there corpses in drag?

Where was that jazz music coming from?

…

Its official, drugged dreams are the worst.

There was a slight issue with moving but at least the bedding wasn’t as heavy as you shifted away from their hold.

_So much fur…_

It seems that your furry companion was smart enough to stick with you as your face was assaulted by the fluffy tail of Mr. Frodo and then your ears with his incessant meowing. He’s now causing your more grief by walking all around your person as you try to escape the enormous bed.

“Ah! Not there! You can’t walk where you like anymore,” you chide at Mr. Frodo as you rub your belly.

Thoughtful you look at the offending part fingering tapping out a random beat to what lies within, had it really been just three months passing?

You could have sworn it was just a couple weeks ago that you found out you were pregnant. Now by the looks of it you’d swear you’re carrying twins or that could just be the paranoia of a first pregnancy getting to you.

God knows you have rights to it by now.

With royalties.

Shaking your extremities awake you take comfort that the surrounding room is more modern and far more welcoming sight with the early morning light pouring from the accompanying window.

You shudder at the thoughts of the night prior, with all its horrors and are thus thankful not to wake there once again.

Reaching the end of the mattress you find that you will be getting answers today, come hail or high water.

_Crap I need to pee. Why on earth did I have to think of water?_

Setting your feet on the cool carpeted floor you test your legs, they shake under your weight as you use the bed as a crutch.

No matter the sting you know that if you don’t make it to the bathroom there would be mortifying consequences, and while you had been drugged again you’re pretty sure that Mycroft hadn’t been the perpetrator.

At least not _yet,_ however damaging the room with human fluids sounds like such a bad idea when he didn’t let his mother keep her claws on your person. One good turn deserves another and all that.

Trudging to what you assume to be the bathroom with Mr. Frodo following smartly at your side you find it all to be as tasteful as the bedroom bathed in white causing it to look heavenly and that tub…dear god you could fit a baby hippopotamus in there if you wanted.

 And that shower…who the hell needs a shower that long?

Apparently Mr. Frodo is up for the challenge as he sets off on an adventure as you take care of business, sniffing the floors and batting away imaginary dust from his reach. Flushing and washing aside you check your reflection, it’s been what, a day in a half that you’ve last washed? Should you shower?

Taking an experimental sniff you find that you probably should, no one wants to engage a sewer for hours on end. You should know, how many customers did you serve at work that smelt of dead fish or worse?

Enough to make you vomit last week during an important meeting that’s what.

Looking back at the shower occupied by Frodo you see it is indeed fully stocked with womanly necessities as is the tub, all you have to your name right now is the ugly nightwear from that harpy.

…

Well, at least you could rinse off and you can see if someone tries to get in…

Screw it, you need that shower.

Grabbing a nearby towel, shedding your clothes you vow to take the fastest and most efficient shower of your young life ignoring all of the decadent settings on the shower head or Mr. Frodo’s cries on the other side of the shower door.

Washing, rinsing, scrubbing, and rising you prepare to towel off only to notice two things.

One those clothes you had currently worn, they were gone.

Secondly Mr. Frodo is no longer in the room making you wonder if the paneling in the shower was sound proof.

And to quite frankly, you were about to test that theory out soon if this crap kept up.

_Not again._

Stalking from the bathroom you prepared to fight naked save for a towel around you for modesty, you were done with this James Bond shit.

It was only reaching the bed did you find a rainbow of different maternity bras, knickers, blouses, dresses, trousers, socks, and shoes waiting for your selection.

It was like someone raided an entire maternity section at the mall and not the cheap mall that the general masses (such as you) would shop at, no, the pricey one that’s further uptown. The one you’re sure only the grossly wealthy can enter without bumping heads with the menacing door greeters stationed outside.

With guns.

You think for the hundredth time, how you even got to this point before choosing some clothes and heading down the hall where a nameless staff member was waiting to escort you.

***

Meanwhile Mycroft was dealing with his own demons namely, the feline menace currently trying to abscond with his light breakfast instead of partaking in his own food.

Upon ___’s entry into the shower Mycroft thought it might be prudent to feed her pet to curry some favor and prove that he meant her no harm, so far the current result was not ideal.

Instead of the lowly fiend devouring his own breakfast leaving Mycroft to attend some business on his phone he is left defending his castle and keep.

This…creature snubs all the cat food purchased for his consumption, some of which were the highest recommended and instead climbs on his oak table sending his phone to the floor, swiping at his fried fish and eggs.

“Be gone, beggar, your own bowl is down there,” Mycroft commands the cat while guarding his food but the monster will not be deterred with the promise of sub-par noms as he prepares for a side attack.

But Mycroft is both bigger and smarter as he blocks it successfully only to now find his back occupied by the thief.

His staff, the traitors, are mirthful of the scene as they stand there watching.

The smug creature’s claws digging into his suit jacket and shedding what must be an entirely other cat upon his person.

It’s roar of domination ringing in his ears as it yowls still trying to find a tactical advantage to secure Mycroft’s breakfast.

 _He’s determined I’ll give him that but the food is mine,_ Mycroft thinks as he blocks another assault.

He’s about to order one of his staff to remove the vermin when a voice over powers his own, “Mr. Frodo come here this at once you naughty little bugger.”

Dressed in one of the more form fitting pale mint blouses, jeans, and trainers her hand beckons with the other holding the forgotten dish from the floor.

And like that the cat is gone happily trotting to his owner like he hadn’t been disrespecting the man at all, shamelessly presenting his tummy for petting, purring like a jaguar engine. ___ gives the cretin a couple strokes before eyeing him, “Good morning…Mycroft was it?”

Obviously ____ is giving him more trust versus his mother and decides to play it to his advantage.

Mycroft straightens himself from staving off the beast, _blast it all_ he thinks as he tries to rid himself of the fur,“ Indeed, Mycroft Holmes and I believe we met under…trying circumstances as it were.”

___ smirks a bit before she is guided across from him by one of the staff and gently seated before a large spread of calcium and iron rich breakfast foods, taking delight in the hash browns before her, “That’s one way to say it, but seriously none of this is drugged right? Because I was serious last night, if I’m put under again I’m heading for France.”

Her face is expectant as ____ waits for a confirmation, even the feline stuffing his face with the dish placed by his mistress’ side pauses to stare.

“Though I cannot promise that it will be the last time a Holmes administers narcotics, I can at least say, with enough certainty that I will not tamper with any of your consumables.”

It would also be best not to mention Mummy’s legions set in France either, lest ____ make haste to another less hospitable nation not under his reach.

Mycroft takes the silence as opportunity to eat taking time to keep an eye out for any four legged nefarious curs…somehow the feline is keen to stay in ___’s orbit while inhaling its meal.

The only noise coming from the clatter of forks and china filled the space between them and it was comfortable as ___ tucked into the last remaining of her second plate, taking quick glances at Mycroft when he appeared otherwise engaged.

One eye would run from his frame to the surrounding nature of the room in a novice attempt at deduction.A  saving grace, that the carrier of his child was not a complete goldfish awaiting the few crumbs of information willing to be offered by the bigger hand.

It wasn’t until he finished his meal that serenity was broken, “So, from what I gather from the last oh…twenty-six, no, more like thirty hours the general gist of the story here with the crazy mom craving a grandkid, the big house, and the clothes but you know what?”

____ pushes the plates away, arms crossed with her head rested upon them, posture eluding silent wrath at the past digressions, “I’m going to give you a chance to explain why my life is suddenly full of all this bad thriller movie espionage crap, just on the off-chance that I’m wrong.”

 _Definitely not a goldfish,_ Mycroft laments as he starts from the beginning, playing each word to its fullest in hopes of turning the tides in his favor.

For the most part she listens attentively, never once interrupting; only shushing the feline companion as it whined for more substance by cuddling it close to small bump that was his child, Mycroft did not let his gaze linger there long.

Not if he didn’t want to be saddled on the same grounds as Mummy.

It is very much uncomfortable as the silence stretched over the breakfast table and onto Mycroft’s shoulders when he finished, as the staff were long gone tending to other duties.

“Your story is passable for the now. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re omitting things and I should be mad, demanding more answers but,” ___ pauses to run her hand through her hair, “I’m just glad to have a name and a face to go with it for once.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Mycroft confirms, “the headaches I received trying to track you down were far more strenuous than the norm.”

Using her hand she gestures between the two of them, “I’m going to let you know up front though, that if we both want a part of this kid we got to work at it. I’m not saying we have to get married but we need to at least be on friendly terms. We need to talk, no going around each-others backs, _especially_ things like kidnapping or drugging.”

“I fully agree, but it may be difficult to communicate at times do to my career, there are instances where I might need to fly to Switzerland at a moment’s notice.”

“That’s all fine just as long as you can leave me a message of some sort I’m _fine_ , really.” Her hand rubs at her left eye, “Just as long as I’m not kept in the dark. Being in the dark’s no fun Mycroft, it drains you,” her face is now guarded in an unknown memory.

“Are you speaking from experience then…?”

___ sits a bit straighter, face erased of the haunted look as it is painted with relief, “You have no idea how stressful my life’s become since bambino’s come along.”

“I can imagine it was.”

She give Mycroft an incredulously glare, “Says the well-off man that lives in a mansion and is a _minor_ government official to the _lowly_ working college student.” The statement is only partially mocking but still playful in approach.

“I’ll have you know I have my troubles as well, running a government overrun with countless drones that lack any real direction, Neanderthals that parade around as martyrs, and peons picketing at a drop of a hat, truly my job is a thankless job.”

___ smiles at him, it’s small but genuine, “Sounds a lot like my job but with more pay and a better dress code. Do you guys at least get a better employee lounge with a TV and gourmet coffee machine?”

“While the room is better addressed with furnishings the quality is still the same no matter what walk of life. Our coffee machine only operates on Colombia beans and the four televisions are intoned to news feeds from around the world.”

“Aw, you poor thing,” _____ coos, “all those mean tax payers weren’t able to afford a personal barista.”

“We had one for a spell before the prices he charged became outrageous.”

Not to mention that he was an assassin sent by a terrorist group to kill him but it’s best not to mention such things present company aside.

“So you got the week off from work then right?”

She’s fidgeting, from both nerves and the desire to move, that Mycroft is up to offer a different setting to continue conversing their guidelines for the future that involves the child when Athena enters.

“Sir, we have a problem,” she says her eyes shoot to ___’s belly before reporting back to him, “It’s your brother.”

Clearly ___ expected him to be an only child by her surprise evident on her face, it loudly echoed that of the Dr. Watson’s ‘there are _more_ of you?’

Mycroft refuses to sink to his brother’s methods of eye-rolling but just barely, “And what pray tell did he get himself into this time?’

“Kidnapped sir.”

“Then send a team to recover him.”

Athena averts her gaze, “That may be a problem sir.”

Mycroft quips a brow before leaving the chair urging her to elaborate.

“Our apparent kidnappers happen to be elderly, armed, and violate. They have a perimeter set up around the building and attracted several news crews. They have demands.”

The dawning on ____’s face came faster than Mycroft’s as she stood from the chair in a panic, “Oh god they _didn’t_!”

Athena’s attention is on ___ now, curious at the proceedings, “Kensington King apartments, 3085 Harden Blvd?”

___’s face is now half covered with her right palm as she groans, “Christ, they **did.”**

She takes a moment to remove the appendage before gathering the lazing cat on the table that whines at being manhandled before settling on her shoulder, “Then there’s nothing for it, take me there.”

To this day Mycroft can’t remember a time he said no so deftly.

 No, that was a lie, he recalled Sherlock at age six and three quarters trying to fly off the roof with his hand-made glider decorated by feathers and runes.

However, Mycroft wishes that he hadn’t as ___’s face hardens at the instant refusal, “Excuse me?”

The words are peppered with incredulous rage and garnished with mild confusion, already Mycroft was losing points.

“What I meant to say was, it’s not safe in your condition to engage the situation since my people haven’t fully grasped the state of things. It would be best if--”

____ is in front of him faster than he anticipated given the weight gain on such a tiny frame, “Ok buster, listen up. I don’t think _you_ don’t understand the gravity of the situation. First off, those are my neighbors, they treat me like family and love me very much. If any blood is shed today it sure as hell won’t be mine.”

___ stands closer an Mycroft does not, _cannot_ recede, to cower now would not help his argument,“ Secondly, they’re not going to listen to anything you have to say until I’m in sight. I was gone for a little over three hours and they freaking had a search party  going armed with tools!  I have restraining orders to this day never to set foot in some of the areas they attacked for answers. They practically invaded my college and went against campus police because they thought someone was bullying me there! Do you really think they’ll listen to you?”

Now she’s nearly touching him, and the feline looks like it’s making plans to jump, “And finally, you can’t make me _stay_. I don’t care if you’re the queen herself, if I want to go there then I will. End of story. I’ll even walk there if I have too.”

“Your evidence while having some merit will still not grant you the ability to go into a hazardous location, ___.”

Which is why now Mycroft sits in the back of one of his unmarked cars accompanied by Athena eyes shining admiration, the feline shedding all over the seats, and ___ clad in a bullet proof vest to retrieve his baby brother.

 _Most assuredly not a goldfish,_ Mycroft laments as he watches ___ fiddle with the vest, _not a goldfish at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all going easier from here I think...


	17. The Hostage or it sucks to be the heroine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure we can all relate to conversations like these...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not dead guys but the finals nearly put me there!  
> Cheers to all who are reading (the comments especially) and a special shout out thank you to CharZo for helping me understand the deal with adding pictures that I will combine once I get in a comfortable swing of writing again!

It was inconceivable.

If you weren’t seeing this for your own eyes you’d never believe it.

The entire building is oozing a warlike stance as almost every mobile member stationed like battalion armed with worn cookware, gardening tools of various statures, knives, handguns, rifles, tools, and what looked like an _actual_ pitchfork on the third floor window held by the usually bed ridden Ms. Tootsie.

How residents even managed to get her out of bed and towards the window with her hefty body and wooden leg is something your imagination can’t fully grasp at the moment as the car slows to a complete stop several feet before the apartment before being swarmed by burly faceless officers swaddled in SWAT team apparel.

There’s news vans stationed at all corners, a lineup of armed men and women lining the car as it slows to a stop which grows further when you exit the vehicle.

“So…how am I supposed to fix this if you have a wall of human flesh blocking the way?”

Mycroft cautiously leaves the car with his right hand woman clutching both her expensive blackberry and the ever priceless Mr. Frodo.

“It was merely a precaution for your safety one cannot rely too much on the emotional ties especially when it comes ready with equipped with an assault rifle.”

“Hey, it’s semi-automatic and since when do consider a seventy year old man to be a threat?”

“Anyone is believed to be a threat if they have the ability to harm anyone that I have invested in.”

Running a tired hand through your hair you try not to read too much into that last comment, you had enough of this emotional bull shit to last the rest of your life and you really, _really_ wanted to veg out on your own plushy green couch with a carton of ice cream and fruit loops.

Was that too much to ask?

“Why do I have a feeling that term applies to anyone armed with a toothpick?”

“There _was_ an incident back a few months prior that involved-”

“Okay, okay-just let me do my thing and get this over with,” you wave off the man and man-handle your way from the human shields.

Walking towards the building you could already hear the list of demands and insulted the police as you trudge towards the building.

“Ma’am you can’t cross this line, we have a hostage situation here so go back with the others,” demands the armored police man seconds from shoving you back behind the barriers with the gawkers holding their phones when a single shot rang out between the offending hand and shoulder.

A loud nasally voice is screaming out with a megaphone as Mr. Vash is loading another shot, “TRY TO TOUCH ____ AGAIN AND WE BLOW YOUR _BLEEDIN’_ ARM OFF!”

_For the love of cheese and crackers…_

Forging forward to the nearest police man with an amplifier and swipe it, “Ms. Ackerman there’s no need to blow anyone’s arm off just let me up and I can sort this out! You guys are too old to be pulling stunts like this!”

“Speak fer yer self lassie, I’m still young and kicking!” declares a tenant two floors above your room waving around a hand gun and wearing a pot as a head cover.

“Mr. Sikes I mean it! NO MORE SHOOTING! Now, I’m coming in!” you announce leaving the megaphone on the hood of the closest police vehicle and heading up the apartment complex steps.

Barely making it through the door you are ambushed by your neighbors from all the floors hugging you, patting you, asking how you’ve been, are you hurt, have you eaten lately, how’s the baby, all while dragging you-half carrying you up the stairway towards your apartment door.

“Guys-really! I’m fine but you need to release that man you’ve got hold up in here because he’s my baby’s…”

You didn’t finish that sentence as your front door was opened for you revealing a tall curly hair man stripped of everything but his pants strung up from your ceiling like some medieval prisoner with Hercules acting as jailor and Helena the inquisitor.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” you all but scream as the duo take their collective eyes off the imprisoned man to you.

“ **Bambina**!”

“Oh my stars-Bambina!”

As they charged you tried in vain not to melt under their affections, they were detaining a man against his will, even more so, your baby’s father’s baby brother (and boy, wasn’t _that_ a mouth full?)

However, it had been a few days since you were hugged so you let it last before breaking away from the pack, “Seriously guys? You held this man hostage? Were you even thinking when you did this?”

“But _Bambina_ , he was snooping around in your apartment again claiming to know where you were kidnapped off to,” pleaded Hercules arms still stretched out for another hug.

Side stepping the attack you move closer to the tied up brother, “And that’s all well and good but I need to get this guy back down in one piece because he’s the baby’s father’s brother.”

The blank stares that you were getting were not helping your mood.

“I mean, he’s my baby’s uncle, guys come on!”

Realization dawned on the group as Helena was the first to fully digest the statement, “So you mean the baby’s Papa is out there right now? Outside this building?”

“Yes, now I need you guys to help get this guy down-how did you even get the chains up there anyway-”

There were gunshots and shouts of blood lust filled the air as you heard Hercules bellowed to those below, “THE BASTARDO RESPONSIBLE KNOCKING UP BAMBINA BETTER COME UP NOW OR WE KILL THE BRAT!”

The chorus of affirmative rage echoed behind it and really, you could just cry.

You can’t resist the urge to smack your head onto the nearest wall, _why?_ you internal cringe, _why does this shit keep happening to me? Did I really screw up badly in a past life?_

But throughout the yelling you can hear a cool voice cutting above the angered chaos, “Of course, I’ll be up momentarily as long as I am able to bring up a friend along later.”

You decide that interfering would not do you any good, stress was the enemy to the expecting and try to get the brother down by yourself.

He’s a bit battered, you can see signs on where the others beat him with random objects in your flat and dimly wonder where they could have stashed his clothes.

Hopefully not in your clothes hamper, doing laundry wasn’t cheap (or safe) around these parts and you are not wasting the coin to take care of this idiot’s share.

It was probably ‘dry clean only’ anyway.

Pulling a chair beside him while brandishing a cooking knife you notice that his mouth had been taped over, carefully you try to remove it.

“Look, I am so sorry that this happened, I swear these guys are normally the sweetest old folks you’ll ever meet-”

“Save your martyr speech for news stations down stairs I’ve had quite enough quality time dealing with your so called ‘sweet old people’ for almost a day. From what I’ve gathered these aged persons in this building belong in an institution.”

Your left eye twitches and you sincerely regret lifting the tape in the first place, “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I won’t repeat myself, these people are senile criminals that have flown under the radar using their frailty as a shield to any who would oppose them and you! You are no exception-I’ve found you out _____,______ including your time spent in Berwick-upon-Tweed. To know my future niece or nephew is a child born out of a murderesses womb is both distressing and amusing! Oh how Mummy will be displeased in her endeavor for a grandchild.”

What the _hell_ is this wacko on? Your name’s not _____,_____ and you’ve never been to a place called Berwick-upon-Tweed.

And murderesses?

 The **fuck.**

You know what, you don’t necessarily care anymore as the man continues to spout off nonsense at your person at very unfavorable degrees of this so-called colored ‘past’ of yours.

Distantly you wonder how much you could pummel the brother before Mycroft arrived, surely he wouldn’t notice a _smidgen_ of murdering  compared to that of your neighbors?

Seconds before you are bound from silencing the mad man with the tape Mycroft has appeared in your door frame causing much chatter in the cluttered flat.

At this Mycroft is glad he left Athena in the car with the whining feline as it only add more noise and mayhem to the party surrounding him.

“You are the **bozo** that knocked up our little Bambina?” Hercules is shouting as he points disbelieving at the man in the doorway.

_____ flinches ever so slightly as she tries to become a breaker to the burly man’s rage.

“Clearly the child is not your Bambina as your _true_ daughter was killed due to your role in the Greek mafia,” Sherlock injects but Mycroft is quick to cover his brother’s trespass with his own before any more blood is shed.

“Yes, I am indeed the father of this child and I plan to fully compensate her for her troubles…”

“You’ll have to do more that buster,” comments a be-speckled neighbor standing shakily on a walker for support.

“Yeah, you need to take reasonability young man!”

“She can’t do this all on her own,” shouts another.

“That much is woefully obvious as the lot of you are a band of deranged murderous fiends bent on destruction and slave to old bad habits,” adds none too helpfully.

 _Really, Sherlock even now_ Mycroft  thinks as his brother still dangles near nude in a mass of persons who wished to do him harm when neither he or ____ could do little to thwart the assault?

A change of air should lighten the death bell toiling quietly in the room.

“Careful dear brother; or people will mistake you for a siren with a persona such as that.”

“Your lack of humor amuses no one Mycroft,” Sherlock fires back, ____ still at his side on the chair massaging her temples.

The accusation is unfounded either way as a few of the room’s occupants are caught off guard by the statement and a few others smiled softly.

“I understand your kinship to Miss _____ but I feel it would be in her best interests that we dwindle our numbers to a more manageable amount.”

There of course is grumbling and parting threats but at last the visitors have decreased to a more suitable five than the original twenty.

Regrettably it leaves the muscle bound giant sitting on the couch, the giant’s wife sitting next to him still armed with a spatula, ____ seated in the wooden chair all the while like she could use a herbal soother and most unfortunately Sherlock still tied to the ceiling like lanky piñata.

“So, you’re just here to help pay for Bambino’s troubles eh _round_ croft?”  the Greek giant accuses stance reeking of defense.

 _Roundcroft-where would he ever heard…_ Mycroft eyes his brother still dangling from the rafters meeting his gaze in the most childish imitation of a gloat and could only think about how much his brother _deserved_ a little thrashing for all his troubles.

“No, my assistance will greatly extended farther than monetary value as I plan to spend the remaining months preparing for the little one’s debut and aiding when I can and sending professional help when I cannot.”

At professional care the couple looked incensed by the thought of paid help over family, “We won’t let this child be raised by hordes of nannies and neither will Bambina! Right ____?”

To be fair, _____ looked like she cared less about the arrangement in favor of lying down.

Preparing his countermovement Mycroft found himself cut off again by outside powers.

‘Hi, this is _____, I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number after the beep I’ll sure to get back to you later.’

*BEEP*

“______? I saw that your apartment was on the news! What’s happening down there? _____?”

______ looks deathly sick at hearing her mother’s voice on the machine and makes no move to pick it up.

“You do know if you ignore her now, she’ll only rush down here in the next two point three hours,” Sherlock supplies sending ____ into a fit to answer the phone before it disconnects.

“Fine-Everything is _fine_ mom! No need to come and check up! It was just a simple misunderstand that was blown out of proportion, no-no one died and there certainly wasn’t a hostage here.”

“Yes, mom, the police checked the place-NO! I mean, no, nothing happened to me, I was at a friend’s house-a female friend’s house!...Mom calm down!”

His baby brother as droll as can be is smirking at the clarification but Mycroft refuses to raise to the bait, after all _he’s_ not the one hanging almost as bare as the day he was born in a stranger’s flat.

“I just got here really, now how’s dad and the boys? Is work treating you well?”

Mycroft knows ____ under pressure but even the dullest of his peons could tell she’s trying to change the subject in order to conceal and was doing so miserably.

“Mom-hey! I said, I’m _fine_! No one’s messed with my flat and the place is still in one piece you don’t have to make the trip down here. Besides! Clay has a recital this week and I have finals! So… **No** mom that’s _this_ week! Mom!”

Deciding that ___ is at the end of her proverbial rope Mycroft places his hand out for the phone which ____ is all too happy to be relived from.

“Hello, are you the parent or guardian of Miss ______, _____? Lovely, I am one of the officer’s on site, my name? Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, at your service. As you probably viewed on the telly recently there had been a hostage situation that we need still need to work the story out so you will have to refrain from visiting the area or the parties involved for at least a three weeks’ time.”

“Yes-of course, I understand your concern Mrs. _____, no I certainly do not do this because I enjoy making those suffer. We only strive to gather all the evidence before condemning any persons to jail-time.”

“I see, that is a very colorful arrangement of words that I assure you will not aid the process to move faster…no ma’am I am not trying to ‘sass’ you…my supervisor’s name? Mycroft Holmes…the number is 784-9526 extension 93…yes have a good evening Mrs. ____ best to you and yours.”

There, sometime is bought until we gather more evidence to ensure the validity of ____’s  claims and a proper presentation that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he and ____ could make this work without any falling outs with either family.

With slightly more force than needed Mycroft ends the call with what is a glimpse of what could be an equal mummy monster to match his own, “Remind me to apologize Gregory next time I see him.”

Sherlock looks incredulous at the name, “Who is this Gregory? It hardly matters as you’ll just kidnap Gavin off the streets when its suits you.”

Mycroft looks over to ____ whose eye peeks through her hands at the mere utterance of the word but says nothing of it only to snuggle deeper into the shell of the giant’s wife’s arms.

Very telling…and very worrying indeed.

“His name is Gregory Sherlock and I do **not** kidnap him! He meets with me casually, you’ve known him for ten years you should at least be familiar with the name that allows you onto crime scenes,” Mycroft complains as he heads towards his baby brother to help him down.

He’s got one knot free gifting his legs circulation and is steadily preparing to scale the wooden chair when Sherlock opens his mouth.

“Besides all you are accomplishing if fending off the inevitable, as this will only end with the same outcome where ____ will be hazed by her family for producing a child out of wedlock thus earning a black spot on her family’s name and her child’s. You do not realize this but ____’s family is one centered on honor something you wouldn’t know with all your underhanded tricks! Honestly, it matters not how you prepare to engage her mother but more how you will help her survive the impending banishment.”

Mycroft doesn’t even blink when ____ grabs a nearby brolly sitting underneath the coffee table before the couch and starts to beat Sherlock unabashedly.

  _But this does explain where Dr. Watson lost my umbrella I loaned him_ , Mycroft  muses as _____ gets a good hard sideswipe at Sherlock’s head connecting at the temporal lobe.

Mycroft shoots of several texts one for Athena to bring up the disgruntled cat, another to traffic controllers, and the last at his desk help.

If Mycroft Holmes should get all taxis and modes of transportation made unavailable to Dr. Watson so Mycroft might enjoy his brother having his ass handed to him whilst he was merely an annoying free-floating detail by brolly wielding mother of his child no one would be the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's picking up and god help me this will be a happy ending!

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft Holmes is:   
> not paid enough to deal with this  
> is not fat  
> is very sexy  
> overdue for a vacation  
> a great older brother  
> in great need for some love


End file.
